


Heart Of Silver/Heart Of Gold

by lettersbyelise



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (kinda), Advent Calendar, Angst, Bathroom Sex, Christmas Miracles, Complete, Demon Draco Malfoy, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enthusiastic Consent, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Human Harry Potter, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Non-Penetrative Sex, POV Draco Malfoy, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-02 16:30:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 54,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16790566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettersbyelise/pseuds/lettersbyelise
Summary: Draco Malfoy, a young demon specialising in school bullying, has lived hundreds of uneventful lives. Until his world is turned upside down by his newest assignment a few days before Christmas: to get rid of 8th year classmate Harry Potter, Defeater of Dark Lords and thorn in the side of all things evil.Trouble is, Draco’s world has been upside down for a while… ever since he started having veryhumanfeelings for a certain bespectacled Gryffindor.





	1. A Castle Under Falling Snow

**Author's Note:**

> I had the initial idea for this Advent fic when I was re-reading _Good Omens_ by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman. I thought, what if there were demons sent to earth with specific missions? What if Draco was one of them and his specialty was school bullying? What if he'd spent so much time among humans that he started to _like_ humans more than a demon should?  
> ...And then this fic took on a life of its own.
> 
> A huge thank you to **[sassy_cissa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassy_cissa/pseuds/sassy_cissa)** for hosting this year's _25 Days of Draco and Harry_ and for the delightful prompts <3
> 
> This fic was a labor of love and I could not have done it without you: **[MaesterChill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaesterChill/pseuds/MaesterChill), [Erin_Riwen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erin_Riwen/pseuds/Erin_Riwen), [LLAP115](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LLAP115/pseuds/LLAP115)** and **[dracoismytrashson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JGogoboots/pseuds/dracoismytrashson).** Thank you for being the best #squeesquad a gal could wish for.
> 
> Heaps of love and gratitude to **[timothysboxers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/timothysboxers/pseuds/timothysboxers)** for his thorough beta, his super helpful insights and his continued dick jokes throughout the process of betaing this fic!
> 
> And to you, dear readers who stopped by to read this fic: I wish you a happy Advent and beautiful holidays <3 This story comes, of course, with a happy ending!

[ ](Heartofsilverheartofgold)

**_“He'd been an angel once. He hadn't meant to Fall. He'd just hung around with the wrong people.”_ **

****_Good Omens,_ ** **Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman** **

**_“I'm floating in a most peculiar way_ ** **_  
_ ** **_And the stars look very different today”_ **

**_Space Oddity,_ ** **David Bowie**

* * *

**PROLOGUE**

_**Tuesday, 1 December 1998** _

Draco stopped and looked over his shoulder. No one was following him. Night was setting over the Hogwarts castle. From where he was standing, on the threshold of the Forbidden Forest, it shone like a lodestar, nestled among the snow-capped fir trees.

Turning his back on the castle, he took a step, then another. Draco wasn’t worried about leaving a trace: his footsteps in the fresh snow melted away as he took the next step. Behind him, he was leaving nothing but untouched whiteness.

Soon he was under the cover of dark trees. Above him, the naked branches framed the starry night sky, stark and ominous like bad omens. He breathed again. No one in their right mind would follow him into the Forbidden Forest—except perhaps Hagrid if he spotted Draco out on the grounds past curfew. But the light in his cabin was on: Hagrid hadn’t gone out for an unplanned evening patrol.

Draco walked and walked. The snow thinned; the vegetation thickened. He wasn’t mindful of the noise anymore. There was nothing in the Forest for him to fear.

Not anymore, anyway.

He finally reached it. It was a massive oak tree, standing eerily still in the middle of an open clearing. Its trunk and leaves were bright red as if on fire, glowing unnaturally in the darkness surrounding it. Draco had always thought the look of the ancient red oak tree was fitting.

Because that tree was the Entrance to Hell.

For Draco Malfoy was a demon, and this was his hundredth life.

The tree was a familiar presence in Draco’s life—this one, the previous ones, all of them. It didn’t mean he _liked_ it. Demons’ flair for the dramatic got tedious after a while. Yet the tree was a part of him, almost comforting. He approached it carefully. He laid his hand on the gnarled trunk. The rough bark was warm. Draco had often wondered if it was blood, not sap, that was coursing underneath it. He waited another quiet moment, the sound of his breathing his only company. He wished he could be back in the Library, pretending to study for his Potions homework like the rest of his Eighth year classmates on a normal Tuesday night of December. He liked sitting next to his friends, listening to the comforting scratching of quill on parchment. He liked the chance to feel Harry’s gaze on him—Harry, who kept meeting Draco’s gaze across rooms and smiling at him. Since they’d returned for their Eighth Year, he didn’t even bother being surreptitious about it.

The quiet never lasted. The tree had a way to summon demons faster than a Firecall.

He heard the flapping of wings and the rustle of leaves over his head, and a familiar voice called overhead, “Hello, Draco.”

Draco lifted his eyes to look at the demon hanging from a thick ropey branch just above him.

“Hello, Mephisto.” He schooled his features into a practiced bored look. This never failed to annoy his demonic tutor. He lifted the piece of red parchment streaked with a scribble in blood-red ink: _'As much as it pains me to see your obnoxious face in-between annual meetings, I require your presence at once, you little good-for-nothing.'_ “You requested I come here, I gather.”

Mephistopheles—it was his full name, and Merlin knew how much he hated that Draco shortened it—flapped his bat-like wings and landed in front on him on the moss-covered ground. His skin was shining, a puffy, sunburned-looking red. He smelled like sulfur. The scent was all the rage in the Hereafter, but Draco had never really cared for it.

Two white-eyed ravens descended from the tree after Mephistopheles and perched on each of his shoulders. From inside the demon’s coat pocket, the pointy, twitching nose of a tiny creature emerged. It was a black Niffler whose beady little eyes fell on Draco’s signet ring instantly.

“Indeed I did, Draco, but first—” He raised a hand and recited: “All hail Lucifer, the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Prince of The World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness.”

Draco waved vaguely. “Ah, yes. What you said. Cheers to that.”

Mephistopheles dropped his hand and watched him with bloodshot, annoyed eyes. The white-eyed ravens on his shoulders shook their wings.

“Anything to report before we begin?”

“Oh, yes. Always,” said Draco. He tapped his fingers on his chin, pretending to think. “So... All is good in the human world. Child labour, starvation, disease, financial crises, general pettiness. Next to it, my minor acts of naughtiness and bullying seem a lover’s caress.”

Mephistopheles narrowed his eyes at Draco.

“Are you sassing me, youngling?”

_“Sassing!”_ Cawed the first raven. Her name was Scylla.

_“Youngling!”_ Answered the second. His name was Charybd.

“Pretty,” said the Niffler, holding out his tiny paw toward Draco’s ring. His name was Jeff.

“Never,” Draco gave Mephistopheles his most angelic smile. It was quite something, given that he was the literal opposite of an angel.

Mephistopheles took a step back and surveyed him.

“Good. Because I have to be honest with you, Draco. The bosses are not happy with you at the moment—”

_Here we go again._ “Yes, you tell me this at every check-in, Mephisto. I’m almost used to it by now.”

“—and if you can’t prove you’ve made _significant efforts_ to improve your level of commitment to the Cause,” Mephistopheles continued, raising his voice, “they’re going to crack down on you and it won’t be pretty.”

Draco shrugged, unphased. “They don’t have much leverage, now, do they? What’s the worst they can do? Slap me on the wrist? We all know I love it. Demote me? I’m already at the bottom of the demonic ladder.” He lifted a smug eyebrow. “I’m so shite at my job, I’m basically untouchable and you know it.”

“You–you _insufferable little snake._ Ugh!” Mephistopheles reached up to rake his fingers through his hair. Sadly for him, there wasn’t much of it left, the few remaining strands brittle and singed. “That’ll teach me to agree to tutor younglings. Teenage demons are _the worst.”_

“Only because you’ve never met actual teenage _humans,_ Mephisto,” Draco said. To his immeasurable pleasure, the demon turned redder.

“Stop. Calling. Me. _Mephisto.”_ He folded his wings around him so briskly he scared Jeff the Niffler. With a squawk, the creature jumped out of his pocket and ran to hide in the dark undergrowth at the foot of the red oak tree. After a visible attempt to calm himself, Mephistopheles lifted his hands. “Fine. _Fine._ Listen, now. You’ve been summoned here because the bosses have a new mission for you.”

Draco looked up, his curiosity piqued in spite of himself. The bosses had let him live his lives without too much supervision lately, save for his annual meetings with his tutor. Mephistopheles saw the change in him and grinned. Ugly, yellow, crooked teeth flashed in the dark.

“They have conducted a post mortem of the whole Voldemort fiasco, you see. The general consensus is that Voldemort should have received more direct support from our higher-ups in the Hereafter instead of letting him run unchecked. You know as well as I do that the bosses hate to meddle with human evilness when it reaches such professional levels. But the lad had a lot of potential. He could have gone far. And to be defeated by—by a—“ Mephistopheles stuttered the words as though the very thought of them was repulsive. “—by a _human child—”_

Draco felt the blood leave his face.

_No._

“Potter,” he breathed, praying his voice wouldn’t quiver.

“Yes. _Potter.”_ Mephistopheles took a deep, steadying inhale. “The bosses want him gone. They can’t afford to let the Boy Who Destroyed An Opportunity walk away unscathed. Humans like him need to be taught a lesson.”

“And how do I fit in this grand scheme?” Draco asked. “I’m hardly worth the higher-ups’ notice.”

“Draco. Oh, Draco,” Mephistopheles said with an ugly, carnivorous grin. “They think you’ve been off the hook long enough now. They think you can take on more responsibilities, Draco. They definitely think you–ah, _proved yourself_ in the last few years.”

_“Proved myself?_ I failed at all the missions anyone has given me. Take Voldemort’s requests. Those sure backfired with me in charge! I’ve barely–“ Realisation dawned on him. Suddenly, he felt cold. Colder than he had any right to be this close to the gaping maw of Hell.

He swallowed. Slowly, he asked: “What is my mission?”

“Why, Draco dear. Haven’t you guessed? It’s easy as pie.” Mephistopheles grinned like the old shriveled demon he was. “They want you to _kill him,_ of course.”

No, Draco had been wrong before. _This_ felt colder.

But let Mephistopheles see—let _anyone_ see—and it was the end of the story.

For him, and for Harry.

“Kill Harry Potter?” He hoped Mephistopheles couldn’t see the bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. “A ridiculous and utterly useless plan, if you want my opinion, but if it makes the bosses happy...”

“Not only does it make them _happy,_ Draco, the idea comes directly from the Big Boss,” Mephistopheles said, and his expression turned sickeningly reverential at the evocation. “Lucifer himself thinks it would be a glorious way to bring your first hundred-lives cycle to a close. Something you could leverage for a promotion on your next life. When your next life starts again next June, would you rather still bully playgrounds and schools, or move on to bigger, badder things?”

Frankly, Draco didn’t want to think about his next life. He’d grown quite attached to his current one. Leaving it again—soon, so soon—wasn’t something he looked forward to.

He must obey, though. He couldn’t refuse a direct order from the Hereafter, not when it came from the Boss himself. He couldn’t _refuse,_ but he could half-arse it, like he had half-arsed all of his assignments in recent years. In fact, in addition to bullying, Draco could have added another prideful line on his demonic _curriculum vitae:_ _Masters Degree in Half-Arsing Things._

“Kill Harry Potter,” he nodded, mustering a businesslike tone. He examined his cuticles. “When do you need it done by?”

Mephistopheles bristled like he always did when he wasn’t sure whether Draco was pulling his leg or not. Given that Draco did it every occasion he got, he was surprised the demon hadn’t dropped dead from sheer irritation yet.

But irritation couldn’t kill a demon, so Mephistopheles was still here.

“There isn’t a deadline,” he said, tapping his dirty-nailed finger to where Draco’s heart should have been if he had one. “But I expect significant progress to have been made by the end of the month.”

“Meaning he should be at least _a little dead_ by then?”

Mephistopheles dropped his head in his hands and groaned.

_“Ughhhh,”_ the white-eyed ravens Charybd and Scylla repeated in unison.

“Unbelievable,” Jeff the Niffler sighed from among the roots of the oak tree.

Draco smiled, his breath misting in the cold winter air.

This wasn’t going to be pleasant. But if Draco had learned anything over the course of a hundred lives, it was that what didn’t kill you... made you a more experienced demon.

Because there were only two things that could kill a demon, and plotting Harry Potter’s assassination wasn’t one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** Mephisto's formal demonic greeting is a quote from _Good Omens._


	2. A Christmas Ornament

_**Wednesday, 2 December 1998** _

There were two things that could kill a demon.

Fiendfyre, and the sound of their name on the lips of their one true love.

Draco had successfully managed to avoid the former in his first hundred lives, although he'd come a bit too close to it for comfort last year.

Needless to say, he felt rather safe as to the latter. In his first ninety nine lives, he’d never loved anyone and no one had loved him in return. In the hundredth, the loveless status quo, sadly, remained. If Draco had recently started feeling something that wasn’t rage or frustration for a certain Gryffindor prat... well, no one needed to know.

A certain Gryffindor prat who, as of yesterday, he was supposed to remove from the surface of the earth.

He was mulling this over in the Library while slowly flipping through his _Advanced Professional Potions_ book. By now, he knew that book better than if he’d written it himself. He still tried to enjoy the acting game of learning to make the potions, of asking wide-eyed questions to Slughorn, of pretending to slice Shrivelfig just this side of wrong, like a normal last year student would. He had a cover to maintain, after all. It wasn’t that bad either: the Library was always warm, the hushed atmosphere heavy with the scent of old books, wood polish and ink. Madam Pince had put up charmed Christmas decorations on the bookshelves: tiny glowing reindeers ran ahead of you to tap on the book that you were looking for, fairy lights blinked softly around the windowsills, and enchanted snow fell from the ceiling. She was obviously in a better mood than she’d ever been, relieved that the Library was one of the few places in Hogwarts to stand unscathed in the wake of the Battle.

There were days, though, when Draco was utterly bored of being a Hogwarts student. He didn’t know why the bosses insisted on putting him on wizarding school assignments over and over again. It was true that over time, he’d come to specialise in minor acts of bullying. Whether it was personal preference or force of habit wasn’t clear anymore. He’d lost track of the career path that led him here.

If he had a choice what to be in his next life, he’d ask for an assignment in Antarctica, scaring off penguins.

No more teenagers. No more _people._

“Psst, Draco,” Pansy hissed and elbowed him in the ribs. Her dark eyes were trained on him.

“What?”

“You’re staring again.”

Draco’s eyes flicked to the spot where his gaze had kept returning since they’d sat at the Library table.

Harry Potter had his head lowered over a scroll of parchment, a lone black curl falling on his forehead, failing to obscure his infamous scar. The light of the nearby fire caught on his spectacles. The lights and shadows turned Harry’s glasses white, making him look like one of Mephistopheles’s ravens. The pink tip of his tongue was caught between his front teeth. For once, he was deeply focused on his homework.

Draco felt his stomach do a little backflip.

“I’m not staring at him. I just... let my gaze wander,” he muttered under his breath.

“Right. And all the _wandering roads_ lead to Potter.” Pansy heaved a long-suffering sigh. “I wish I could help you.”

“Mind your own business,” Draco glared, crossing his arms over his Potions book and thumbing his ring. He knew he sounded like a petulant teenager. Then again, that’s what he was. Demons didn’t usually reach maturity until well into their second millenium.

They were being too loud. Around the table, Greg, Blaise and Theo threw them quizzical looks. Even Harry and his friends glanced at them briefly. The red-haired Weasley girl murmured something in her brother’s ear. Harry’s green eyes lingered on Draco’s for a second longer than the rest of them. Draco’s stomach resumed its acrobatics.

“Look,” Pansy said.

There was a small boy standing by their table. First or Second Year, Draco thought. Had he ever been this tiny? The boy was red in the face, his eyes flitting between Draco and Pansy as though he couldn’t decide which one of them was more intimidating. He fidgeted, wringing his hands. He obviously had something to say.

“Hello, darling,” Pansy purred, leaning over her books to look at the boy closer. The poor thing flinched. Pansy’s toothy smile, which she meant to be reassuring, looked positively feral instead. “Are you looking for something? Someone?”

“Yes!” Relieved for the prompt, the boy stood straighter. “Yes, the Headmistress sent me to let Draco Malfoy know that he is expected in her office!”

Draco felt several pairs of curious eyes on him. The Headmistress hadn’t asked to talk to him face to face since the beginning of Eighth Year. Theo lifted an eyebrow. Pansy stared at him with concern. At the other end of the table, Blaise murmured, shaking his head with a small smile, “What have you done this time, Malfoy?”

“I haven’t done anything,” Draco hissed back. The little boy was already moving away from his table. “I don’t know what this is abou—”

And now the little boy was in front of Harry’s table, even more flustered than he was a moment before. Draco heard him say: “Harry Potter.” His voice trembled with awe and admiration. “The Headmistress said you’re also expected in her office.”

The curious looks on Draco’s friends’ face morphed into something that resembled _understanding,_ and perhaps also _pity,_ and which Draco did not care for.

He stood. Across the tables, Harry was gathering his books, gazing at Draco behind his smudged round spectacles. Draco picked up his books and placed them in his shoulder bag, hoping the trembling of his hands wasn’t obvious.

 _You have nothing to fear,_ he chastised himself. _What’s the worst that can happen? You’re a_ demon, _for Lucifer’s sake._

He very well knew it wasn’t fear that made him shake. He refused to acknowledge that particular thought. Now was not the time.

Harry walked up to him, bag in hand, cloak thrown over his shoulder. He placed his hand on Draco’s shoulder for him to follow.

“Come on, Draco,” he said. “Let’s see what McGonagall needs us for.”

Draco nodded jerkily, ignoring the titters coming from his friends. He appreciated them, he truly did, more than he’d ever appreciated humans in the past, but... perhaps in his next life he’d try to pick friends who were actually _nice,_ and didn’t actually enjoy watching Draco blush and stutter.

He followed Harry out of the Library. They silently walked the drafty corridor leading to the stairwell. It was a normal school night of December; the castle was quiet, save for the occasional students rushing off to join the merry fire and friendly faces of their year’s common room.

They climbed the stairs. Draco felt himself shiver and wrapped his winter cloak tighter around him. In the near-darkness, Harry’s eyes gleamed with humour.

“Cold, eh? I wonder if permanent Warming Charms are part of the renovation plan of Hogwarts.”

Draco snorted before he could help himself. “I seriously doubt it, Potter. Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that it wouldn’t be _feasible._ It’s that no one running this place has the common sense to do it. And _yes,_ I’m including McGonagall in that.”

Harry was a few steps ahead of Draco, but Draco could see him smile.

“Everyone’s so used to the cold now, it’s become part of Hogwarts’s winter traditions. You know: Christmas pudding, glowing fir trees, enchanted ornaments everywhere, and then there’s also the occasional sneeze and runny nose.”

Draco laughed. “I know you’re technically right, Potter. Yet I can’t help but feel like I _prefer_ the castle to be cold and drafty and _Christmassy.”_

Harry met his eye with a smile. “And I’d prefer you’d call me Harry.” Then, lower, “I think we’re past the use of surnames, Draco.”

Draco almost tripped, catching himself on the banister at the last second. He was about to answer _... something sarcastic? something nice? How on earth was he supposed to answer?_ when he realised they had arrived in front of the gargoyle guarding the Headmistress’s office.

 _“Scottish Fold and British Shorthair,”_ Harry announced out loud. The gargoyle bent its head ever so slightly and stepped aside, revealing the spiraling stone stairwell leading to the office. With one last look at Draco, Harry took the stairs two at a time.

Draco followed at a much less enthusiastic pace.

When he walked into the office, Harry was already sitting in one of the chairs across the Headmistress, a cup of Lapsang Souchong placed in front of him on the desk. He took the teacup’s handle between index and thumb. His blunt fingers held the small porcelain cup with a delicacy Draco wouldn’t have expected from him. The smoky aroma of the tea drifted to Draco. Mixed with the scent of firewood in the hearth, the presence of Harry, and McGonagall’s kind expression, the scene indicated a casual conversation more than a telling-off.

The same enchanted reindeer ornaments he’d seen in the Library were grazing on her desk, giving off a warm glow. The reindeer must have been McGonagall’s idea, then. Draco relaxed infinitesimally.

He took the seat next to Harry. The Headmistress gave him a thin-lipped smile.

“Gentlemen,” she started. “I have called you in this evening to discuss the matter of your post-graduation career choices.”

Draco slid a look over at Harry. He caught his green gaze a second before Harry turned to McGonagall again.

“Yes, Headmistress?” he said. With her, he always had a respectful, deferential tone that Draco wouldn’t have thought possible of Harry Potter.

“Mr Potter, a few years ago, you expressed interest in a career in Magical Law Enforcement.”

Harry let out a hesitant little exhale. “Yes, Headmistress.”

“And you, Mr Malfoy,” she turned her stern gaze to Draco, “you probably had career plans, too, though I don’t think I know what they were.”

Draco nodded cautiously. Whatever career plans he may have had were moot before he even fully formed them. After all, he’d never had a chance to pursue any of them in the course of his hundred lives. His lives always ended right before he turned nineteen, before he’d even have the chance to give a thought about potential careers. Why would he bother, really?

“Perhaps,” McGonagall added, “your father had plans for you. I can imagine that his plans have fallen through. However, given your outstanding marks throughout your education here at Hogwarts, and the improved behaviour I have noticed since the beginning of this year, I have no doubt you have a brilliant professional future ahead of you, should you give it proper thought.”

Draco felt his face heat. He had just received a compliment for good marks and good behaviour—and to make it worse, he felt pleased and proud about it.

He was awfully glad there wasn’t another demon in the room to witness this very un-demonic moment.

“There is an array of possibilities available to you. As such, Eighth Year students could benefit from spending time researching what they want to do after Hogwarts.” McGonagall steepled her fingers. “Over the next week, I will group Eighth Years in pairs, so each one of you can start discussing ideas with your peers. Someone who is going through the same stage of life and the same concerns as you are. A career sounding board, if you will.” She paused somewhat dramatically. “I have decided that you and Mr Potter will work together on this assignment.”

Draco’s head snapped up. _Oh. No, that can’t be true._ McGonagall extended her hand towards him, both a reassuring gesture and an instruction to keep quiet. She must have seen the look of disbelief on his face. _“Yes,_ Mr Malfoy. I believe your complementary competencies shall be perfectly suited for this task.”

“Is that it, Headmistress?” Harry asked next to Draco. He sounded calm, the opposite of how Draco felt. McGonagall leaned forward slightly. She looked at them from over her spectacles.

“Yes, Mr Potter. But it isn’t a project to take up lightly. I will meet with you again before Christmas to ensure you are making actual progress.” She looked from Harry to Draco with something akin to melancholy. “You and Mr Malfoy have promising futures, should you decide wisely what you want to do with them. Remember that this choice won’t be easy to make, between too many potential paths in your case, and too many closed doors in Mr Malfoy’s.”

This seemed to shut Harry down. Draco’s mouth was dry. He’d have to come up with a plan for the future. He gave his head a shake. _Don’t think about it._ Not only would he have to work with Harry on this assignment, but he’d have to convincingly lie about a future he didn’t have. He’d have to convincingly lie about a future he didn’t have to _Harry,_ of all people—

_Don’t. Think. About. It._

Next to him, Harry was a shade paler. Yet when he swiftly met Draco’s eyes before turning back to the Headmistress, he simply nodded.

“Alright,” he said with his usual reckless Gryffindor self-assurance.

“Alright?” squawked Draco.

“I can do it,” Harry said, spearing him with his resolute green eyes. Then, with an almost playful inflection: “Can you?”

Draco stood still, his eyes searching Harry’s. He hoped, a bit hysterically, that Harry was pulling his leg. All he could find in his eyes was the same legendary, infuriating earnestness.

Draco wasn’t one to back down from a challenge thrown his way by Harry Potter, no matter the complications it would bring.

“Where you are merely average, Potter, I excel,” Draco told him, his amused half-smile cancelling the haughty lift of his chin.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Harry said. He had the same defiant tilt to his head, the same half-smile. His eyes were still sad, but they often were these days. “And I thought I insisted on you calling me Harry.”

Draco hoped to Lucifer he could keep his blush in check. Turning to McGonagall, he nodded.

“It seems we are agreed, Headmistress. When do we start?”


	3. A Fir Tree

_**Thursday, 3 December 1998** _

Thursday morning started with Professional Level Potions—double period. 

Draco still wasn’t sure why Harry was here. He’d never shown any natural talent for Potions. Severus Snape might have not been the best teacher Harry could have had, but it still didn’t explain the full extent of Harry’s mediocrity—or, to Draco’s initial point, his presence in this class.

Probably a good question to ask him when they’d get to their career choices research.

Draco missed Severus. Slughorn wasn’t a bad teacher  _ per se. _ It was just that ever since he’d picked the winning side at the Battle of Hogwarts, Slughorn had become the leading figurehead for socially acceptable Slytherins. It meant he was even more conceited and self-satisfied now than he was before.

Slughorn was currently fawning over Harry, who was doing nothing more exceptional than stirring his cauldron counterclockwise as stated in the instructions. It was something any moronic first year could have done. Draco sat two rows down the classroom, the perfect vantage point to see every sycophantic encouragement Slughorn gave Harry. Harry continued to work despite the distraction, his expression good-natured and humble. The worst part was, Harry’s modesty probably wasn’t even faked.

McGonagall had told them they could start meeting to research and discuss career paths on Monday. Starting Monday, Draco would have no choice but to spend several hours a week in close quarters with Harry. 

Harry, who was supposed to be his arch-nemesis. 

Harry, who was starting to become somewhat of a friend. 

Harry, who was now his partner-in-career-choice-research.

And Draco, just Draco, falling more desperately in love with him as days went by.

***

It wasn’t supposed to happen that way _. _

Draco was alone in his Hogwarts Express compartment—one he had chosen as far up the front of the train as he could in an preemptive attempt to be left alone—when the door had slid open to reveal no one else but the Saviour of The Wizarding World. 

Potter had walked inside and slid the door shut. Draco had stared at Potter, unable to move, like a bird mesmerized by a snake’s emerald eyes.

“Hullo, Malfoy,” Potter had said, and had sat across from him. 

“Potter,” Draco had nodded. Potter had bitten his lower lip, his slightly crooked left canine sinking into the flesh. Draco hadn’t known what to say. Potter looking shy and restless in front of him— _ because  _ of him—wasn’t something he had ever expected to witness. The last time he had seen him had been his trial. Harry had appeared in front of the Wizengamot in his dark red robes that made him look taller than he actually was: a scrawny, underfed teenager. He had spoken with such confidence about Draco. How he'd been forced— _ forced _ —to do the things he'd done. His unanticipated protection at the Manor had saved his life. How his standing up to his friends in the Room of Hidden Things has prevented him from being prematurely hit by a Killing Curse. Even Draco had believed him for a moment. Believed that all those things he’d done had been meticulously planned out and not driven by a spur-of-the-moment, stronger-than-him instinct to see Potter live at all costs. For a few minutes, Potter’s voice and his words had lifted the weight of guilt from Draco’s shoulders, the shitstorm his life had become had faded away a bit, and he’d felt like he could breathe.  _ Thank you,  _ he’d told him when he’d seen him in that Ministry corridor, minutes after the Aurors had charmed the binds away from his wrists.  _ You’re welcome, Malfoy, _ he’d answered. He had looked weary but had managed a small smile. He had grabbed Draco’s shoulder with a friendly hand. He hadn’t quite met his eye.

That had been all the contact Draco had had with Potter before his first day back at Hogwarts. He had feared and anticipated seeing him again in equal measure. 

“You’re... alone?” Potter had asked him, and Draco could detect something akin to sadness in his voice. He didn’t know what Potter was sad about, and he didn’t like seeing it directed at him.

“By choice,” he had snapped, sitting straighter. “I just needed some time alone before... before going back.” He had swallowed. “My friends are in another compartment. Do not worry about me.”

“Are the Slytherins coming back?”

Draco had narrowed his eyes, trying to guess Potter’s feelings about it. All he could see was Potter’s open, honest expression.

“Pansy, Blaise, Theodore.” After a beat. “Greg.”

“Ah.” Harry had leaned back into the seat, biting his bottom lip. “Okay.”

There had been a lull in the silence. Potter had watched the green hills of the English countryside roll past the window and Draco had watched Potter. 

Eventually, Potter had wrung his hands once more and had spoken again.

“Look, Malfoy. I feel like we started off on the wrong foot. In the past year I—I’ve done some thinking. About... about  _ you. _ I don’t know why you didn’t give me away that day at the Manor. I hoped that maybe... maybe it was because you were on my side. You wanted me to win. That’s why I testified at your trial.”

“Oh,” Draco said. “Is that why you came back to save me? The... Fiendfyre. In the Room of Hidden Things.” However many lives he would live, he would never forget it. The mind-numbing fear, the certainty of his imminent death, the sickening relief of grabbing onto Potter’s hand and leaving the inferno behind.

“No,” Potter had shaken his head, dark tousled curls falling in his eyes. He had cut his hair over the summer. It was still a hopeless mess—just shorter. “I would have come back no matter what.”

Draco had just stared at him, and Potter had just stared back, understanding passing between them. Potter looked just as affected as Draco was by this conversation. But being the brave man that he’d always been, he had had no second thoughts about starting it. 

So Draco had gathered up his own courage—digging deep into its almost depleted stores, thumbing his Malfoy signet ring—and he had nodded.

“I wanted you to live. I don’t think—life without you—life with that noseless maniac... Merlin. It would have been the worst thing in the world.” He had felt a flush creep up his cheeks as he spoke.  _ Be brave, be brave, be brave. _ There was a hammering in his head. He had kept going, this time hoping his sneer would offset his blush. “Don’t think it makes you important in any other way but this one, Potter. We were both just pawns in this war. I was really only looking out for me when I pretended not to recognise you at the Manor.”

Potter had smiled slowly and had leaned back on the sit, clearly not buying Draco’s dismissive words.

“Sure, Malfoy. I always knew you were nothing but a self-centered git.”

“There you go,” Draco had said, mirroring Harry’s smile, warm and a bit shy. Both things he’d never thought he and Potter would be around each other.

Potter had got up and held out his hand to Draco. He had taken it without hesitation. Potter had declined his handshake once. There was a time when Draco would have dreamt of the opportunity to scorn him in return, but this time had passed long ago.

“I’d like us to.... er, try and be friends,” Potter had said, his warm hand still enclosed in Draco’s.

“I’d like that, Potter,” Draco had said with a sincerity he didn’t know he possessed. Thank Lucifer Mephistopheles was hundred of miles away and his father was in Azkaban for life, or one of them would have surely Apparated on the train to smack some sense into Draco if they knew.

With a blindingly bright grin, Potter had let go of his hand. He had turned to Draco before opening the door.

“Come with me?” he had asked tentatively. “You could meet my friends.”

“Thank you, Potter, but I think that'd be too many Gryffindors for one day,” Draco had smirked and Potter had laughed. Merlin, his laugh. Draco could already see how addicting it could become. “I’ll see you at the Eighth Year table, I suppose.”

“See you there,” he had smiled before opening the door. “And... Draco?”

Draco had looked up at the sound of his given name. It might have been the first time he’d heard it in Harry’s mouth.

“Yes?” he had said.

“It’s  _ Harry. _ Please. We’re beyond surnames, don’t you think?” And with one last flash of his brilliant smile, he had left a dumbfounded Draco alone in his train compartment.

***

Three months later,  _ somewhat of a friend _ was the best description of Draco’s relationship to Harry.

They both had their own year-long friendships, the kind of friendships that you knew were here to stay—well, in the case of Draco, at least until his next life. The idea of  _ replacing _ Weasley or Granger in Harry’s life was preposterous, even Draco knew that.

Yet a bond of some kind had formed in that train compartment months ago. Draco suspected the bond had been there all along, its existence muddled by Harry’s immovable wariness of him, by Draco’s relentless bullying and name calling, and by their mutual competitiveness.

It manifested in the smallest things. Harry sitting next to him at the Eighth Year table that first night for the Welcoming Feast, ignoring the questioning glances of his friends, Draco’s friends, and to be honest pretty much everyone in the Great Hall. Harry asking if he could read Draco’s notes at the end of a Potions class. Harry offering him to join a game of Quidditch with other Eighth Years. 

Harry casually touching him, a hand on his shoulder, a touch on the arm,  _ Hey Draco, good game, Hey Draco, wanna come see this for a sec. _

There was something between them, and Draco felt it course through his veins, hum through his body.

They hadn’t really had a long talk ever since that first day in the Hogwarts Express. Draco wouldn’t have known what to say. Most of the time Harry looked... almost  _ sad. _ As though something was always gnawing away at the back of his mind. Draco wished he could pull out the words from him, smooth the furrow between his brows, convince him his life would be full and brilliant and happy, someday. But what comfort could a demon like Draco offer someone like Harry Potter? In a few months, this life of Draco’s would be over, while Harry’s life would go on. 

So he never said anything. He simply settled for the little touches, the shy smiles, the lingering looks.

Slughorn’s booming grovel startled Draco for his thoughts.

“Harry, m’boy! Let’s see what we’ve got here!” Slughorn looked as though he was about to swell with vicarious pride. Leaning over the smokey cauldron on Harry’s desk, he peeked inside and took a sniff. His face fell ever so slightly. “Excellent, excellent,” he said more quietly. His expression almost faltered but he kept his genial smile in place. “Did you add a clockwise stir every thirteen counterclockwise stirs like I told you to?”

“I can’t be sure, Professor,” Harry said. “I might have missed and counted to fourteen. I was distracted.” He paused to look inside his cauldron. “Your story about how you knocked three Death Eaters out with your bare hands during the Battle was  _ ever so fascinating.” _

Slughorn gaped at Harry for a second before bursting into magnanimous laughter and moving on to the next student. 

Draco snorted. Harry looked at him over his shoulder and gave him a crooked grin.

An _ infuriatingly attractive  _ crooked grin.

Draco’s throat tightened. Blaise gave him a look.

“Alright, Draco?” he whispered. “Looks like Slughorn isn’t the only one falling head over arse for the Chosen One.”

“Sod off, Blaise,” Draco muttered, feeling his cheeks prickle with heat. “Slughorn had it coming.”

“Are you telling me you have developed an  _ appreciation _ for Potter’s rudeness?”

“It’s not rudeness, it’s...” Draco prayed to Hell his blush wasn’t spreading, “...well-timed insolence.”  _ Which was kind of hot,  _ but Draco would rather set himself on fire than admit it to Blaise.

He still hated the look on Blaise’s face, stating in no ambiguous terms that he was no fool.

You’d think that living a hundred lives would teach you how to be better at hiding your... whatever it was you were feeling. But clearly, Draco was wrong.

He was, apparently, terribly obvious.

***

When he walked through the portrait hole into the Eighth Year Common Room at the end of Advanced Arithmancy, his last class of the day, Draco was greeted by the sight of a tall fir tree and several of his classmates busying themselves around it. They rummaged into boxes of tinsel, Leviosa-ed fairy lights, and tripped over round, golden baubles spilling from a large jute bag.

“What’s going on?” he asked, wondering why he bothered.

“It’s Christmas tree time,” Pansy’s head poked from around the tree. She was sitting on Neville Longbottom’s shoulders, lifting her arms to set a huge, sparkling gold star at the top of the tree. Longbottom was quite red in the face—a result of Pansy’s weight or her stockingless white thighs pressed against each side of his face, Draco couldn’t tell. “And we’re all busting our arses to make it look  _ magnificent.  _ Come and give us a hand, you selfish sod!”

There was a time when Draco’s approach would have been met with wary glances and even the occasional muttering about  _ Death Eaters, _ but the glances and the muttering had eventually faded away. It seemed Mephistopheles wasn’t the only one who’d noticed that Draco wasn’t really putting his neck into evil-doing anymore. With his usual histrionics gone and no recent bullying to report, Draco had become a poor excuse for a low-ranking demon. Pansy passed him an ornament and he murmured his thanks. He hung the colourful baubles to the branches of the fir tree among his laughing classmates. Being a normal human didn’t seem as degrading as he’d once been told.

Especially not when Harry kept catching his eye over the branches of the Christmas tree, the corners of his eyes crinkling with his smile.

Blushing, he turned to grab more ornaments. He noticed Greg sitting on the wooden stairs leading to the dorms. Greg listlessly looked into the middle distance, and Draco’s chest ached at the sight. He’d never been the expressive sort, far from it. Yet ever since the fire, he’d been even quieter than before. Draco went over to him.

“Hullo Greg. Mind if I join you?”

Greg moved to the side, leaving just enough space on the stair for Draco to sit.

They sat together in silence for a while, watching their classmates bring the final touches to their Eighth Year Christmas tree: Hermione Granger wrapped multicoloured fairy lights around it while Pansy, still perched on the shoulders of a positively sweating Neville, tapped the star at the top of the tree with her wand, setting it alight. Someone had hung green tinsel around Harry’s neck and he and a group of Eighth Years were laughing by the fire. 

Draco’s gut squeezed. He wished he could be one of Harry’s casual friends. 

He wished he could be that tinsel around his neck.

Sweet Lucifer, he was losing the plot, wasn’t he? He was supposed to think of a way to  _ kill _ the git, not  _ fall harder _ for him.

“You look sad,” Greg murmured next to him. Startled, Draco canted his head.

“Pardon?”

“You look sad,” Greg repeated, “when you think he can’t see you.”

Draco froze. Slowly, although he feared he knew the answer, he asked: “What are you on about?” 

Greg looked at him from the corner of his eye. He didn’t answer Draco’s question. “I wish... it could happen for you,” he said, his voice thicker than usual. “It might be worth dying... it might be worth dying, that way.”

Draco swallowed. “Greg...”

“Better love than Fiendfyre, if you ask me,” he said, twisting his big hands in his lap. “Sometimes I think you should have left me there, y’know?” He took a breath while Draco watched him, appalled. 

“Greg. How can you—”

Greg gave a clumsy shrug. “I guess I just... miss him. ‘Ts always been the three of us, right? Ever since I remember. Every life...” He brought the back of his hand to his eye, and Draco hoped to Lucifer Greg wasn’t crying. But the moment passed. Greg continued, eyes dry, voice lower now. “I know we have to go on without him. ‘S not coming back. I know. I can’t wait to finish this stupid life, Draco. Can’t wait to move on to the next.” He glanced at Draco, resigned. “Not sure you do, though.”

Throat tight, Draco watched his demonic friend. Like Draco’s, Greg’s long-established certainties were slowly falling away. In the course of a hundred lives, nothing had affected them, and now... Now Greg was mourning the loss of their closest friend, and Draco’s world was slowly tilting upside down, all because of his feelings for—

“I—I don’t know anymore,” he confessed in a breath. “Endless life, or... or whatever will come out of this.” In the room, Harry was unraveling the tinsel from his neck and hanging it around the branches of the tree. He had that smile on his face, the one he wore when for a moment he forgot he had cause to be wistful. It was the kind of smile that reminded Draco of the first ray of spring sunlight melting the snow away after winter. Draco gave his head a shake. “What if... what if it’s not worth it?”

Greg didn’t answer at first, and Draco wondered if he’d heard him. Greg folded his big hands over his knees and got up. He stopped and looked at Draco. His small, beady eyes were sad.

“How will you know if you don’t even try?”

Before Draco had time to do anything but blink, Greg turned away and climbed the stairs leading to the dorms.


	4. An Owl

**_Friday, 4 December 1998_ **

This morning, like every Friday morning, Draco received a parcel from his mother.

The Eighth Years were having breakfast at their table at the end of the Great Hall. Eight rows of tables had replaced the House tables at the beginning of the year.  _ No more Sorting, _ McGonagall had said, her first edict as the new Headmistress.  _ No more Houses. The last thing we need right now is more division.  _ Students were grouped by year.

Draco didn’t mind. The ambiance at the Slytherin table would have been dismal if it still existed. He’d been told First Years from traditionally Slytherin families had been worried about being Sorted into Slytherin—a few of them had even had panic attacks on the Hogwarts Express. The Slytherin stigma the War had left in its wake was strong. Of his former Housemates, only Pansy, Blaise, Theo and Greg had come back with Draco to complete their education. The others had either sought employment, or had moved to the Continent where their past wouldn’t be such a burden.

Draco had nowhere to go. He had his hundredth life to finish and it was pointless to take his bullying talents to a new location for less than a year. It wasn’t the only reason, of course, but that’s the one he’d given to Mephistopheles when they’d met after his eighteenth birthday to discuss his plans for the year ahead. So he’d come back to Hogwarts.

His mother had been delighted with his choice. With Lucius sent to Azkaban and the Manor half in ruins, Narcissa had desperately hoped for a better future for her son. For her, it consisting of graduating from Hogwarts then perhaps applying to a Potions Mastership in Oxford or Cambridge or Edinburgh. If, Merlin forbid, English schools didn’t accept his application, he could always study in the States. Draco smiled ruefully at the thought. Narcissa, his assignment human mother in this life, loved him a ridiculous amount. Neither she nor Lucius had ever noticed their baby was a demon. Then again, Lucius and Narcissa noticing Draco had demonic tendencies would have been the pot calling the kettle black. 

The Malfoys’ eagle owl landed on the table in front of his mug of tea, talons skidding on the polished wood, almost knocking off Finnigan’s bowl of porridge. Finnigan wrapped his hand around the bowl and brought it closer to him with a scowl. 

“Careful, Malfoy,” he muttered. There was a time when Draco would have expected a lot worse, but everyone seemed to have accepted his presence here, albeit grudgingly.

Draco untied the rolled parchment and the small wrapped box from the owl’s foot. Distractedly offering the bird a piece of his toast, he unrolled the scroll. His mother had written a brief letter in her perfectly balanced calligraphy:

_ My dearest Draco, _

_ I hope you’re enjoying your time at Hogwarts. I know I ask you every week. You never tell me, but a mother reads between the lines. There might be something bothering you that you’re not telling me about, and perhaps it’s fine. You’re a grown man, after all. You’re allowed your secrets.  _

_ As much as I worry about your wellbeing, I am delighted that you chose to go back to Hogwarts, as I’ve often told you. With your father in Azkaban and the Manor in ruins, I have a lot to busy myself with, but it’s a lonely life. I think about you, surrounded by young witches and wizards your own age, and I think I envy that a little: being young, having your future ahead of you. It’s been years since I dared dream a better future for you, and now there’s a chance my dream will come true.  _

_ December is always such a special month. I hope you use this time to think about what’s next for you. I shall be waiting for you at the Manor, as I do every Christmas, my little one, my son. _

_ Your mother. _

_ PS: I sent you a box of your favourite chocolate truffles.  _ La Magie Du Chocolat. _ Do you remember? _

_ PPS: Please send my best to Harry Potter. _

Upon reading the last line, Draco rolled the parchment hastily, hoping no one had read over his shoulder. She couldn’t help it, could she? She asked about Harry in every one of her letters. Draco knew she had even written to him directly, shortly after the trials. He didn’t know if Harry had ever answered, but the thought of  _ friendliness _ between Harry and his mother disturbed him.

Looking up, he saw most of his classmates had left the table. Pansy and the other ex-Slytherins were leaving for their first classes of the day.

“Potions,” Pansy told him as she hitched her bag higher on her shoulder. “Ugh. I can’t understand you sometimes. To think you signed up for Advanced Professional Potions instead of Potions Essentials like the rest of us. I always knew you were mental.”

“Maybe,” Draco smiled smugly, “but it also means I have a free period on Friday morning when you lot suffer in Slughorn’s overstuffed classroom.”

Pansy rolled her eyes but leaned in to kiss his cheek. Blaise and Theo wolf-whistled and laughed, and Draco flipped them off with a smile.

He’d never had to tell them. With time, they had all figured out that Draco’s preferences leaned to a specific side, and that side wasn’t Pansy.

Draco left the table after everyone else. Lost in thought, his winter cloak on his shoulders, he slowly climbed the stairs to the Owlery. Knowing his mother, it was best to answer right away, lest she start fussing and sending him letter after letter until he responded. He would thank her for the chocolates, write something vague and reassuring about his health, and tell her he was looking forward to her next letter—which, incidentally, he always was.

He rounded the corner of the drafty stairwell, stepped in the Owlery and stopped short.

Harry was here.

He had his back turned on Draco, his hands busy with the cord he was tying around the foot of a school owl. Even with his back turned, Draco would recognise him. He would recognise Harry in any situation, in any disguise, in any of his lives. If he had a heart, it would be racing in this moment.

He must have drawn an involuntary breath because Harry snapped around. He stared at him for a second, wide-eyed. Draco had a feeling his own expression was the same.

“Hello,” Harry eventually said, a tentative smile twisting the corner of his mouth. The school owl, perched on his shoulder, surveyed Draco with haughty eyes.

“Hi,” Draco said, wrapping his old Slytherin scarf tighter around his neck. His cheeks felt hot. He was certain his face was flushed. He just hoped Harry would mistake his blush for the effort of climbing the stairs of the Owlery. 

There was an awkward silence, only interrupted by the gentle flapping of wings and the soft hoots of sleeping owls perched above their heads. Harry rubbed the back of his neck and cleared his throat.

“Er—are you here to send a letter?”

“Yes,” Draco said, pondering the fact that past-Draco would have certainly made fun of Harry for stating the obvious. Draco had no desire to mock Harry now. “Just a note to thank my mother. She sent me this,” he added, fumbling with his parchment and the small chocolate box before lifting the lid off it. Hesitating, he said, “Would you like one?”

Harry barely kept the surprise off his face. “Sure,” he said, approaching Draco to peer into the box. “What are they?”

“Chocolate truffles. She orders them from Paris. They’re her favourite. Mine, too.” He realised how snobby he must sound and blushed furiously again, hiding his face in the folds of his scarf.

Yet Harry didn’t say anything. He just licked his lips, picked a perfectly round truffle from the box and popped it into his mouth. He closed his eyes briefly, moaning softly as his jaw worked around the sweet. There was cocoa dust on his lower lip. Draco had a sudden flash of him kissing it clean.

Then Harry’s emerald eyes were on him again, and he smiled. 

“Thank you. It was really good.”

Draco swallowed. “So... are  _ you _ here to send a letter?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, gently stroking the head of the school owl with his knuckle. “I’m writing to Andromeda.” He glanced at Draco as though he needed to clarify. “Andromeda Tonks.”

“It’s okay, I knew who you meant,” Draco said, hoping his tone came through as understanding and not dismissive.

Harry nodded. “She has Teddy now.” He didn’t feel the need to specify who he was talking about this time. “It’s a tough time for her, and also... I think it’s good that she has him. He’s nine months old. He keeps her busy.” He ran his hand through his hair, messing it some more. “I wish I could be around more, but with school, it’s... yeah.”

“I heard they moved to London,” Draco said. There was no need to whisper, but he couldn’t help but keep his voice low. “I haven’t seen them since— _ Tonks’... _ funeral.”

“Yeah,” Harry said again, gazing down at his shoes. He pushed his hands deeper into his cloak’s pockets. Eye contact was difficult. Draco elected to watch the comings and goings of owls through the windows of the Owlery.

“Didn’t you—didn’t you have a snowy owl?” Draco asked eventually, mostly because he couldn’t bear the silence. 

Harry looked up at him, searching his face for something—smugness, hurtfulness, Draco’s trademark malice,  _ something. _ When he couldn’t find it, he blinked. 

“Hedwig,” he said. “She’s dead.”

Oh. Oh, no.  _ Of course _ the owl would be dead. Was there anyone from Harry's life still left standing after the war?

By Lucifer, talking to Harry was a minefield.

“I’m so sorry,” Draco blurted. It was the most undemonic he’d ever felt. He half expected Mephistopheles to Apparate in a sulfur-stinking cloud and slap him across the back of the head.

“S’okay,” Harry said, tilting his face away. He shrugged. “She was... just one among many others.” He stroked the school owl’s head some more, slowly, thoughtfully. The bird closed its eyes and leaned into the caress. “It’s just that... of all the people I knew that died... Sirius... Remus... Tonks,” he caught his breath, “...Fred.” His eyes were shiny. “It’s just that sometimes... it's like the one I miss the most is my owl.” He faced Draco again. “And now I feel bad telling you this. You must think I’m so selfish.” 

There were tears in his eyes. Draco stood frozen, unable to choose between his desire to hug Harry and his urge to flee the scene. 

He wondered if Harry had ever told his friends about this. His girlfriend. Anyone.

“I don’t think it’s selfish. Or stupid. Or anything,” he told Harry. His chest ached. “I think it just... makes you normal.” He gave in. He took Harry by the shoulders, gently, forcing him to look at him. Harry did, wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand. “Harry...” Draco murmured, “your owl was your companion. She was your pet. Her role in your life was just as special. You’re allowed to... to  _ mourn _ her.”

Harry swallowed and nodded. He gave a shaky little laugh. His green eyes were still shining with tears, but he smiled. 

“Thanks, Draco.”

“Anytime,” Draco said. The force of the eye contact had shaken him. He realised he was standing awfully close to Harry, close enough to feel his body heat, close enough to see a teardrop hanging from his lashes. He dropped his hands and took a step back. “Going to be alright, Potter?” He asked with he hoped looked like a smirk.

“Yeah,” Harry answered with a half-smile. “I’m serious, though. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Draco mumbled as Harry stepped around him, the school owl taking flight with the letter to Andromeda tied to its leg. Harry brushed past him, and Draco caught a whiff of his smell: clean soap and pressed wool and something warm and undeniably Harry. Throat tight, he called for another school owl. After all, he’d come to the Owlery for... For what again? Ah, yes. Writing to his mother. That would definitely put Harry Potter out of his mind.

“Oh, and... Draco?” He heard behind him.

Harry was standing in the doorway, hands in his pockets.

“Yeah?” Draco asked, hating himself for the hopeful thrill in his voice.

“Do you want to go to Hogsmeade with me next weekend? Er... me and my friends?” Harry lifted his hand, rubbed his cheek. “Would be fun, and all.”

Draco stood gaping. “Yes,” he said before he had time to think about it. “Of course,” he added. “I’d love to.” Sweet Lucifer, if he didn't shut up right this instant—

Harry’s face lit up, and Draco’s stomach did a little backflip.

“Brilliant. Okay, I have to go to class. Cheers!”

He turned on his heels and hurtled down the stairs.

When Draco turned to look around the Owlery for a free owl, there were two white-eyed ravens perched on a windowsill, sightless eyes boring into him.

  
  



	5. A Garland Of Fairy Lights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who's read, kudo'd and commented so far. You brighten every one of my December days!
> 
>  **Warning for this chapter:** there's a depiction of recreational drug use (a marijuana joint) in a 100% consensual context. If this is a potential squick, you can skip the last 1000-ish words starting when Harry comes back from his dorm room. Other than that... enjoy this one ;)

**_Saturday, 5 December 1998_ **

“Alright! Gather ‘round, kids! Who wants to play?” Dean Thomas’s voice came from behind a tall stack of colourful boxes, a laughing Seamus Finnigan pulling him by the shoulders to unbalance him. 

It was going to be an usual Saturday night at the Eighth Year Common Room, then. Draco, who was sitting at one of the tables over what the Eighth Years called ‘the Homework Corner’ (or, usually in the days preceding an exam, ‘the Bottomless Pit Of Homework Despair’), looked up. After dinner, he’d sat there, scribbling notes about assassination methods for Harry Potter.

So far, he had written the following:

_ Trip him down one of the Moving Staircases _

_ Push him out one of the Owlery windows _

_ Poison him and make it look like a Potions accident  _

All in all, his top ideas were a bit too thin to bring to Mephisto anytime soon.

From his seat in the sofa near the fire, Weasley stood to attention.

“Me!  _ I _ want to play!” Looking quizzically at Thomas and Finnigan, he added, “What are we playing?”

_ “Uno, _ maybe?” Finnigan grabbed the box at the top of the stack. The tower of games wobbled dangerously and Thomas hastened to place it on the floor. Finnigan read from the labels below.  _ “Operation? Guess Who?” _

“Oh! You brought  _ Monopoly!”  _ Granger jumped from the sofa. “Oh, Ron, let’s play this one! Everybody’s going to love it! We’re going to play for hours!” She lifted the lid and peered inside. “Brilliant! You still have the instructions booklet!”

“There's an instruction _ booklet?” _ Ron looked at her in disbelief. “Merlin’s tits,  _ no. _ We’re  _ not _ playing a game that requires revision to be played.”

“This one seems fun,” Pansy’s drawl came from near the decorated fir tree. She’d been fiddling with the tinsel again. Longbottom had been tapping various ornaments with his wand at the other side of the tree, making them sparkle or sing little holiday limericks. Draco frowned. There was something about Pansy, Longbottom and this tree, and he wanted to find out what it was.

Pansy let go of the bit of tinsel that hung from one of the branches and slinked toward the Muggle board game boxes, her expression curious. She was seemingly oblivious to the slight reactions of distaste her presence still elicited from their classmates. She pointed at a box. “This one. _Hungry..._ _Hippos?”_

“It’s  _ Hungry  _ Hungry _ Hippos,” _ Thomas corrected in a flat voice. It was hard to sound aggressive when saying  _ Hungry Hungry Hippos. _ “It’s... fun, yeah.”

“Oh, brilliant,” Pansy said with a toothy smile. Turning around to look at her classmates, she enjoined, “Who wants to play?”

“I’ll play!” Neville Longbottom piped up then immediately turned pink. Merlin, you’d think the man wasn't a war hero who had contributed to Voldemort’s demise less than six months ago.

“I’ll play, too,” Dean Thomas said, lifting his eyebrow in silent challenge to Pansy. She just grinned harder.

“Count me in,” said a voice from behind the sofa.

Everybody turned to look as Harry rose to his feet from where he’d been sitting on the carpeted floor, his back to the sofa cushions. He stalked toward the little group of players, his nonchalant gait contrasting with his cocky smile. A few people cheered.

“Alright, Harry!” Weasley clapped him on the back when he passed by. “Show ‘em, mate!”

Thomas was already busy laying out the game on the carpet. Pansy and Longbottom were bringing cushions and throw pillows from around the room and arranging them in a circle around the board.

Draco rolled up his parchment and moved closer, Blaise rushing past him to get the best seat. “Sorry, Draco, don’t want to miss this,” he said, dropping himself on one of the pillows next to Pansy. 

“Expecting drama, Blaise?” Draco lifted an eyebrow. He lowered himself on a cushion. His seat was, coincidentally, right across from Harry’s spot in the circle. “You do realise it’s a Muggle board game for eight-year-olds, not a game of Quidditch at the World Cup?”

“With these four playing against each other? There could just as well be,” Blaise smirked. He rubbed Pansy’s shoulders. “Go get ‘em, sweetheart.”

Draco didn’t miss the look Longbottom flashed Blaise’s direction. Maybe Blaise was right. This evening had all the ingredients for drama lined up. A suspicion confirmed a second later when Harry sat across from Draco. His green eyes lifting to meet Draco’s, and Draco’s stomach lurched. Harry gave him a small, crooked smile. He leaned in to turn the board so that the red hippo was on his side.

“Oi! How come you get the Gryffindor hippo?” Thomas immediately protested.

“I got there first,” Harry poked out his tongue at him, and for a moment they were all normal, unworried teenagers who hadn’t lived through the horrors of war.

“In that case, I’ll take the green one,” Pansy announced, plopping herself on Harry’s right. She leaned over to pick five marbles from the box. The movement gave Longbottom an unobstructed view of her low neck line, which was no mean feat given the rather conservative dress code McGonagall had established upon her taking office. Longbottom, as red as Harry’s hippo, fiddled with the handle of his own hippo—he’d chosen the yellow one, conveniently placed across Pansy’s green one.

“Cheers, everyone,” Finnigan, leaning over Thomas’s shoulder, smiled mischievously and looked around. “Let’s play! Players, at your marks... ready... GO!”

The four players immediately launched into a furious game, releasing the marbles from their grooves and trying to gobble as many as they could with their hippos. It barely lasted a minute, everyone frantically pushing their hippos towards the finish line. Thomas and Pansy were swearing loudly and Longbottom was already sweating, his face shiny with excitement and effort. Harry had the tip of his tongue stuck between his teeth, deep in concentration, and Draco leaned closer to the game, unable to tear his eyes away from him. It wasn’t just Draco, though: the whole room had gathered around the board, some seating next to the players, some standing around on their tiptoes, trying to catch a glimpse of the game. Pansy’s hippo gobbled the last marble and Finnigan yelled, “Done!”

The players counted their marbles. 

“Two,” Neville sighed, wiping his brow.

“Six,” Pansy answered, smiling at Neville more sweetly than Draco had ever seen her smile.

“Five,” Thomas said, the marbles rolling off his palm and onto the board.

All eyes turned to Harry, who smiled cockily. “Seven,” he announced, “I win!” The Eighth Year room erupted in cheers, laughter and whistles. Weasley gave Harry a side hug that looked awfully close to a head lock. Granger hopped up and down, “I want to play! Oh I want to play the next game!” Hannah Abbott Summoned a garland of Christmas fairy lights and, laughing, draped it over Harry’s shoulders, humming something that sounded suspiciously like  _ ‘Weasley Is Our King’ _ with ‘Potter’ thrown in instead. Harry’s cheeks were pink, the blinking fairy lights randomly highlighting his hair with pink, blue, yellow and green. His grin had turned slightly embarrassed, as it always did when he was the centre of attention for too long. Draco used to think it was false modesty. Right now, he wasn’t so sure. Now that he was starting to see Harry for who he really was... it felt like a Bludger to the face, every time, realising how utterly, how deeply  _ good _ Harry was.

Draco wondered how a demon like him didn’t burst into flames just by being in Harry’s vicinity.

The first players made room for new ones, Granger, Weasley, Finnigan and Blaise this time. Draco felt someone sit next to him on a free cushion, a friendly shoulder brushing his.

“Fun game,” Harry said, very close to Draco’s ear. “You should play.”

“Not sure I’d be good at Muggle games,” Draco admitted. Harry’s face tightened. Draco, realising his mistake, backpedaled quickly. “I mean... not because they’re  _ Muggle,  _ obviously. I have nothing against... that.” Harry watched him silently, as if taunting him to say it, so he did. “I have nothing against it anymore. You know that... Don’t you?”

“I think I do,” Harry murmured, eyes pulled back to the loud players again. “Still think you should play, you know? You’re so... serious. So grave, all the time. You should loosen up a little.”

“I am serious because I  _ want _ to be serious, Potter,” Draco muttered. He didn’t know why he was telling him this. With the surrounding noise, he was certain only Harry would hear him. “I’ve been a little shit for far too long. I’m making amends now. At least, i’m trying to.”

Harry nodded, still watching the game. “I believe you.” He canted his head to glance at Draco. There was a crooked little smile on his lips that Draco did not care for. “And if you don’t know how to relax, perhaps I should give you a hand.”

Draco froze, unable to look away from Harry, his little smile, the impish glint in his beautiful green eyes.

“I—” he said. He was humiliatingly interrupted by his own throat, contracting to swallow a gulp of air. Harry laughed.

“Hold that thought,” he said. He stood to his feet, fairy lights dangling from around his neck. He ran to his dormitory room.

Harry came back as a fourth round of  _ Hungry Hungry Hippos _ was finishing, Longbottom as the winner this time. He shyly yet proudly punched the air in victory. Pansy clapped and whistled loudly. 

“Oi, Harry, what ye got in there?” Finnigan greeted Harry. Harry opened his fist to show everyone its contents: a small, flat packet and a transparent plastic pouch containing what looked like dried, crushed Gillyweed. He grinned mischievously.

The Muggleborns and half-bloods in the group burst into laughter. Thomas clapped Harry on the back while Granger crossed her arms with a disapproving huff. “What? What is it?” Weasley kept asking, still sitting on the floor, pulling at the hem of her robe. “It’s Harry pretending to be cool but really being a  _ stupid, predictable teenager,” _ Granger scoffed. Her admonition had the opposite of the desired effect on her boyfriend. Weasley stood to have a better look at the pouch.

“McGonagall let you in with  _ this?”  _ Thomas enthused. “There really is such thing as a ‘Boy Who Lived’ privilege!”

“Shove it, Thomas, or you won’t have any,” Harry laughed. “What McGonagall doesn’t know can’t get me in trouble.” He looked around. His eyes fell on Draco who was still seating where Harry had left him, too bewildered by the scene to move. “Wanna try?”

Someone moved the board games aside. Slowly, the students arranged themselves in a loose, lounging circle on the floor. Hannah Abbott brought something that looked like a large silver box riddled with buttons, opened a round compartment on top and placed a small silver disk in it before closing it with a click. Strange music started playing—definitely Muggle—and Draco tried to pay attention when he noticed Harry nodding approvingly at Abbott. The song was upbeat yet melancholy, hopeful yet happy. The singer was asking her lover to kiss her repeatedly beneath the twilight.  _ Pretty lyrics, _ Draco thought. As he looked over to Harry, he thought they were quite fitting.

The lights dimmed. Harry, still wrapped in fairy lights, shone as enticingly as a Christmas present. Wouldn’t he look just perfect, surrounded by multi coloured lights, naked in Draco’s bed—

Oh, sweet Lucifer.  _ That _ was new.

Draco had never allowed his mind to go  _ there _ before.

And now that it had been, he couldn’t think of anything else.

_ Harry naked. In his bed. _

He watched Harry bend over and lick a stripe along rolled-up cigarette paper, and his mouth watered.

Around the circle, a few students looked utterly at ease, as though what they were about to do was normal and not completely foreign. A few others, like Granger, appeared to be battling to keep the disapproval from their faces. The majority, though, just followed the proceedings curiously. Harry lit the tip of the cigarette with a muttered  _ ‘Incendio’ _ and took the first puff, closing his eyes briefly before passing it to Thomas on his right.

He leaned on his left to murmur to Draco, “You don’t have to try it if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t even know what it is, Potter,” Draco whispered back.

Harry suppressed a giggle. “It’s a marijuana cigarette.”

Draco had never heard the term before, but he wasn’t stupid. He could read the context. As a demon, he had a knack for sensing illegal shenanigans when he saw them. He felt a little frisson of excitement mixed with circumspection at the thought.

“Drugs?” he asked, trying to sound casual. 

“Kind of.”

“What’s  _ kind of a drug? _ It either is, or it isn’t.”

“You’re right,” Harry rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. Around the circle, their classmates were passing the joint around with lazy smiles. “I just meant it’s light and recreational. It helps with... relaxing, or sleeping. Among other things.”

Harry’s face was thoughtful. No innuendo of any kind here. Draco reflected on all the reasons why Harry would need help relaxing or sleeping. So he said, “I want to try.”

Harry glanced at him. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” Draco clasped his hands in his lap, looking at them instead of at Harry. 

“You never tried it before?”

“No,” admitted Draco.

“Oh. Of course. Yeah.”

“Why would you say ‘of course’?”

“No reason!” Harry lifted his hands. “It’s just that—you’re so... upper-class and all. I assumed—” He glanced at Draco and saw something in his expression that made him stop in his tracks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s okay if you’ve never done it before, or if you don’t want to do it now.”

Draco wanted to be offended—Harry seemed to think what he’d just said was insulting although Draco couldn’t fathom why—but he chose to move away from that particular attitude. After all, in the past, it had done him no good when it came to Harry.

“Will you show me?” He asked.

In the dim shine of the fairy lights, Harry’s face lit up. 

“Of course.” He took the cigarette when it came back his way. He looked Draco in the eyes. Draco stood very still, his hands trembling, his whole body buzzing with the nearness of Harry. “I’m going to make it easier for you,” Harry explained. “I’m going to take a pull, and I’m going to exhale in your mouth.”

Draco felt his eyes go wide as saucers. “Beg your pardon?”

Harry looked as though he wanted to laugh, but not at Draco’s expense. “It’s... softer that way. You will still get a high, only slower. Nicer. For your first time,” he added, and Draco blushed. 

Around them, a hush had fallen, as though their classmates had noticed the joint hanging from between Harry’s thumb and forefinger, his body fully angled towards Draco’s, Draco still as a bird caught in the line of vision of a snake.

Someone hooted, “Show the posh boy how to live, Harry!” and several people giggled. Harry paid them no mind. He just smiled at Draco.

He brought the cigarette to his lips.

He took a pull, his cheeks hollowing, his eyelids drooping slightly. His green eyes shone in the fairy lights, their gaze trained on Draco, insistent, unwavering.

Draco saw him lift his hand as if in slow motion, Harry’s strong, blunt fingers making contact with his jaw, the calloused tips sliding along his cheek, into his hair, fisting lightly, bringing his face closer. Harry’s eyes crinkled at the corners, and Draco angled his head, opened his mouth, and let Harry blow a cloud of grass-scented smoke into his mouth, the hint of his soft lips and his hot breath a thousand times more heady than the drug.

Around them, Draco was aware of people cheering and wolf-whistling.

With a smile just this side of smug, his eyes never leaving Draco’s, Harry pulled away, his fingers caressing Draco’s cheek as he retreated. 

Draco swallowed. 

With it came the smoke, and he burst into a coughing fit.

Everybody laughed. Draco was still coughing, but he didn’t care. Less than a foot away, Harry sat prettier than the Christmas tree, his gaze soft and facetious. He smiled at Draco before taking another puff of the cigarette for himself. 

What a sweet irony, Draco thought, smiling at him, mind and body loose. 

_ He _ was the demon, and  _ Harry _ was the tempter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** The Muggle song playing on Hannah Abbott's CD player is _Kiss Me_ by Sixpence None The Richer.


	6. A Signet Ring

**_Sunday, 6 December 1998_ **

On Sunday morning, Draco woke up feeling rested and refreshed. He hadn’t had a nightmare all night, something that hadn’t happened to him since Voldemort had moved into his parents’ house two summers ago.

It looked like all he could thank for it was a spliff and an almost-kiss with Harry Potter.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to try the spliff again. After that first shared drag, his head had swum a little. He’d found himself giggling and leaning dangerously close to Harry’s shoulder. Eventually, Blaise had pulled him up—”Here you go, big boy”—and had dragged him upstairs to their dorm room. As for kissing Harry Potter...

“Psst!”

Draco flinched at the noise. Lifting his head from his pillow, he checked that his roommates were all still fast asleep: Longbottom was sprawled on his stomach, head almost buried under his pillow; Blaise was snoring on his back with his arms crossed over his chest _(to prevent wrinkle formation,_ he would explain. _Because you’re actually a vampire,_ his roommates would joke.) Anthony Goldstein was curled under his usual three blankets and five Warming Charms because he was always cold _(circulation issues,_ he’d told his roomates in the inevitable ‘too much information’ moments of initial dorm room cohabitation).

He decided he must have imagined the noise and fell back against the pillow.

Where was he?

Ah, yes. _Almost kissing Harry._

Oh, dear Lucifer. Harry had been so close last night. His skin had looked so real, so soft. It was for the best that Draco had been so tongue-tied, or he would have slid his hands into Harry’s hair, his stupid, ridiculous bird’s nest of a mop of hair, and he would have pulled him in for a proper kiss.

Yes, definitely.

It _was_ for the best.

What was he thinking? Didn’t he know he could die from this? _There are two ways to kill a demon,_ he recited in his head. _Fiendfyre, and my name on the lips of my one true love._

But Harry wouldn’t have said his name yesterday, if Draco had kissed him. And Draco wasn’t Harry's one true love: being someone’s true love implied a notion of reciprocity. _Lifelong reciprocity,_ if he was completely honest with himself. The very concept of Harry loving Draco forever was utterly preposterous and improbable.

Draco wouldn’t let his mind go there.

But what if he let it? Maybe just a little...?

Because... Harry must have _known,_ right? He must have known the effect his little stunt would have on Draco. The proximity, the physicality of exhaling his breath into Draco’s mouth, of Draco inhaling Harry’s breath into his lungs. The slow slide of Harry’s fingers along his jaw, his cheek, into his hair. The look he’d given him just before blowing smoke into his mouth—a little mischievous, a little cocky, but also... soft, fond, trustworthy.

Draco stifled a groan. His cock twitched at the sense memory. Lucifer, he was already hard inside his pyjamas. If he could just touch himself—just get this over with, just get it out of his system...

He grabbed his wand and swished it. The drapes of his four-poster bed slid closed around him, and he didn’t wait to plunge his hand into his pants and take hold of his stiff cock with a sigh of relief. Oh, this was going to be fast. He wouldn’t even have time to cast Silencing spells. He started wanking, a few slow strokes at first, just to test the waters. His cock spurted a long trickle of precome and Draco’s eyes rolled. Turning his face on the pillow, he bit back a moan. Umphff, okay, definitely a fast one this time. He moved his hand up and down his hard prick, faster, harder, marveling in the way his body responded, thanking every last corner of Hell for giving him a human form to live his lives, biting his lip when he let his fingers linger around the crown, teasing the foreskin before wrapping around his shaft again and resuming his frantic wanking. His head was full of Harry’s recalled presence. How real he’d felt, so ordinary in his jeans and hand-knit jumper and mismatched socks, how touchable his skin has looked, how close to kissing they’d come, how green and warm his eyes were when they locked with Draco’s—

_“PSSSSTTT!!!”_

“Aaaargh!!”

His hand jerked away from his prick so fast he almost toppled over and out of the bed. This time, there was no doubt. Someone was in Draco’s bed. Panting hard, he sat up and pulled the covers over his straining cock.

He looked around frantically.

“Who—who’s there?”

Draco gaped as something moved under the covers at the foot of his bed.

A twitchy black nose emerged.

It was Jeff the Niffler.

“What the Heavens are you doing here?!” Draco hissed, horrified to be found in this position by Mephisto’s pet. He patted the covers for his wand and hastily cast a few Silencing charms around his bed.

The Niffler pushed the cover aside and climbed over Draco’s duvet. He had a look on this tiny face... Lucifer, there was something almost _lewd_ in the twitching of his whiskers. Draco blushed and pulled his blankets higher against his chest.

Nothing like a mole-like animal giving you a once-over to quell even the most stubborn erection.

“I came to check in on you, Draco,” he said. He had a low, gravelly voice that had always seemed at odds with his size. “I have to admit I didn’t expect to get _quite that much_ of an eyeful, but far from me to complain,” he added, his mouth twisting in a salacious grin.

Draco put his face in his hands. “Oh, for Hell’s sake.”

“Not a problem, Draco,” he felt the Niffler move closer, “I know what it’s like to be a young man in the prime of life. Well obviously, I don’t, but I’ve been around long enough for your impromptu morning activities not to shock my sensibilities.”

Draco’s head snapped up.

“You wouldn’t have witnessed any of it if you had announced yourself properly!”

“Oh, did you mean—” he lifted a paw, “All hail Lucifer, the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Prince of The World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness?” He gave Draco an exasperated look. “I did announce myself properly. You just chose to ignore me and to listen to the call of your knob instead.”

Draco knew his face was probably redder than a Howler at this point, so he gave up trying to hide. He dropped his hands in his lap with a sigh.

“What brings you here? For real,” he speared the Niffler with a hard look. “You never check in on me, even less so visit me inside the castle.”

“Aww, do you wish I’d visit more?” Jeff said with a saccharine smile. “You know I always say we don’t see enough of you, down by the red oak tree.”

Draco studied the Niffler’s beady black eyes. He was doing his best to pretend to project a look of solicitude, but his eyes kept fleeting to Draco’s bedside table.

Without breaking eye contact, Draco leaned to the side and grabbed the object of Jeff’s longing glances. The Niffler’s face fell slightly as he did.

“Seeing something that interests you?” Draco quirked an eyebrow. “Did you really hope to have me believe you were here out of genuine concern for me?” He opened his hand, keeping its content inches away from Jeff’s reach. Inside lay his signet ring, the one his father had given him on Platform 9 ¾, minutes before his first boarding of the Hogwarts express eight years ago. The ring shone mutely in the dim light filtering through the four-poster’s curtains, the silver circle embossed with snakes and dragons. The emerald engraved with the ‘M’ of ‘Malfoy’ at its centre gave off a dull gleam, like light filtering through pond water. The twitch of Jeff’s nose intensified and he took a step closer before Draco closed his fist around the ring again. “You want this, don’t you?”

For a moment, Jeff looked as though pride was battling with greed inside his tiny head. Then, wringing his paws, he grimaced. “Yes! Yes, I do!”

Beaming with triumphant glee, Draco squeezed his fist tighter.

“Why?” he asked, relishing the Niffler’s anguished look immensely. That should teach the sneaky little beast to spy on his, er, _intimate_ moments. “Tell me,” he probed again with a mock-lascivious smile, “and I might let you have a closer look.”

“Alright!” Jeff said and folded his paws over his chest. “Do you have— _any idea_ —how precious this ring is?”

“I only know that it’s emerald and silver, and that it has been handed down from one generation of Malfoys to another for centuries. Other than that,” he shrugged, his demonic tendencies kicking in with every minute of horrified incredulity he put Jeff through, “it’s nothing but old metal and stone to me.”

“Old metal and—” Jeff’s paws flew to hold his face. “Draco, have you no shame?” At that, Draco threw the ring in the air and caught it like he would a ball. It seemed to work to stress his point, as Jeff positively looked like he was about to have a stroke. “You haven’t,” he said, appalled, “you truly haven’t.”

Draco dropped the act.

“Does Mephisto know you’re here? Because you’ve been spying on me for Lucifer knows how long, and you still haven’t said anything that would remotely look like an actual check-in.” He leaned in, bringing his face close to Jeff’s. “You want something from me, and you were hoping to make it look like sage advice from my mentor’s pet. Possibly in exchange for something.” He lifted the fist enclosing the signet ring. “Shall I venture a guess as to what it is?”

Bristling, Jeff took a step back. “This ring, youngling, is no ordinary ring. It’s made of goblin silver, and the centre stone is said to have belonged to no other than the great Merlin. It’s a treasure, a real treasure, wasting away as a vulgar family heirloom and even more so on the finger of a underling demon like you. It would be the crowning glory to my collection of rare and precious jewelry, and,” he started stamping his foot, “ _IwantitIwantitIwantit!”_

Fighting a winning smile, Draco said sweetly, “Oh, I understand, Jeff dearest. Unfortunately, Father would be terribly cross if I happened to misplace his family’s signet ring, you see.”

“Your father,” Jeff said, “is rotting in Azkaban because quite frankly, he does evil so effortlessly, he puts professional demon like you to shame. And since when do you care about human parents? You’ll be off to your next assignment in less than half a year and will never hear the name ‘Malfoy’ again.”

Draco didn’t need a reminder. He didn’t need a reminder of his own inaptitude as a demon, and he didn’t need a reminder of the ticking of passing time, of his numbered days in this life until he had to start everything all over again, and again, forever.

He had an idea. It was a bargain with the devil—well, his _pet,_ anyway—but what’s the use of being a demon yourself if you can’t play this game?

“I can see you really want it,” he mused. “Shall I ask Mephisto about giving it to you? Wonder how he’d like to hear his _adorable_ little Niffler is off pursuing his own interests instead of working for the common bad?”

“Don’t!” Jeff lifted his paws in supplication. “You’re right, he doesn’t know I’m here. I just... wanted to take a look at this 13th century marvel of a ring, that’s all. What Mephisto doesn’t know can’t hurt me, I mean _him._ Please don’t tell him, _please?”_

“Mmh,” Draco tapped his chin with the tips of his fingers. “I don’t know. I could, you know? Give you the ring.”

Jeff’s nose twitched hopefully. “You could?”

“Yes,” Draco continued, fake thoughtful air firmly in place. “But you’d have to give me something in return.”

“Anything!” Jeff squeaked eagerly before clapping his paws on his mouth. He attempted a more casual pose then. This didn’t fool Draco. “I mean—I don’t really care anymore, but I’ll listen to your pathetic propo—”

“Help me get out of the assignment,” Draco interrupted, his slow, measured words carefully masking the thunderous beat of his blood inside him. “Show me how to get out of the assignment, and I’ll give you this invaluable ring.”

Jeff smirked slowly. When his lust for shiny things didn’t blind him, he was actually quite good at detecting weaknesses. And it seemed Draco hadn’t been good enough at hiding his.

“Oh, really? Ickle Dwaco is unhappy with his mission? Whatever shall Mephisto say, should he find out?”

“Mephisto won’t find out,” Draco said. They were staring at each other in the semi-darkness, eye contact as intense as the stakes were high. “If he does, the ring ends up at the bottom of the Hogwarts lake.”

“You wouldn’t!” Jeff breathed, horrified.

“I would. I am a demon, after all. Or have you forgotten?”

Jeff huffed and looked away. He had his little paws crossed over his chest, deep in thought. His tail swished back and forth on the duvet. Eventually, he eyed Draco again.

“Fine. I’ll do it. I’ll help you. Under two conditions.”

“Which are?” Draco did his level best to sound bored instead of tragically eager.

“One: I’ll help you, yes, but I can only guarantee you the means, not the end. I get the ring, whether or not you manage to get out of your assignment.”

Draco stilled. He had hoped... he had hoped for some sort of miracle. Maybe. Yet this was probably still his best chance.

“Alright. What’s your second condition?”

Jeff fixed Draco with a hard glare. “Mephisto must never, and I mean _never,_ hear about our little... arrangement. Ne-ver. You hear me?”

“I hear you,” Draco told him. “I don’t want Mephisto to hear about it either.”

“So we’re agreed, then?” Jeff said, holding out a paw in Draco’s direction. “You agree to my terms, and I agree to yours?”

Draco took Jeff’s paw between his thumb and forefinger. He gave it a minute shake. “I do. Thank you.”

Jeff shook his head dolefully. “Don’t thank me. I don’t know why you’re asking me this, kid,” he looked almost sad, “but whatever’s got into you... I’ve seen it before, in better demons than you, and it can’t be good.”

Draco wanted to ask what Jeff was seeing in him that was so grim, but before he had time to open his mouth, the Niffler had Disapparated, leaving behind only a puff of purple, sulfur-scented smoke.


	7. An Apology

**_Monday, 7 December 1998_ **

Draco rushed up the path leading to the Hogwarts gates, his breath coming out in small white clouds. It was 4 o’clock; the sun would be setting soon. It had already started its descend towards the horizon, the cold white light of the winter day slowly fading to yellow, then orange, pink, night. Looking up, he could see the half-collapsed silhouette of the Astronomy Tower cutting a dark shape against the golden sky.

Ways to kill Harry Potter: _disarm him,_ Avada Kedavra _him at the top of the Astronomy Tower and push his lifeless body over the railing_.

Draco shivered.

He remembered going back to the Tower, in the first days back at Hogwarts. There was a railing now, linking two sections of the ramparts circling the Tower. Between them, the fallen stones left a vertiginous gap, one that seemed to call Draco as much as it repelled him. He remembered taking a step back, the gaping abyss drawing him in, calling at him. A fall wouldn’t kill him, but it would sure raise a few questions from Madam Pomfrey. Worse: upset his mother. He had walked back to the safety of the wall before running down the stairs.

He hadn’t gone back to the Tower again.

“Draco.”

He jumped. Harry was around the corner of the Entrance Hall. His face was pale, his glasses slightly fogged in the cold air. Behind them, his eyes were round and wide as though he didn’t expect Draco to show up. The wind coming from the open doorway to the outside ruffled Harry's hair and he ground his teeth, folding his arms around himself.

“Harry,” Draco said. His given name still felt foreign on his tongue. Foreign, but sweet, like his mother’s chocolate truffles. “You came.”

“Yeah. Not like McGonagall gave us a choice.” Harry said. Seemingly regretting his remark, he hastened to add, “Not that I mind. At all. I don’t mind doing this with you, just... Why d’you reckon McGonagall wanted this done in the middle of winter? I wonder why it couldn’t wait until we’re closer to the end of the school year.” He was attempting to sound casual and, in Draco’s opinion, failing.

They walked in the direction of the Library.

To be honest, Draco had asked himself the same question and had come up short. He could see another reason why the Headmistress would assign them to this specific task together. Him and Harry. The Death Eater and the Boy Who Lived.

A test.

He shrugged.

“I don’t know. She’s mental. Perhaps it’s a requirement for Hogwarts Headmasters.”

Harry snorted then seemed to think better of it. Draco realised his mistake, too late to do anything about it: mentioning Headmasters, however mental they could have been, had to rank high on the scale of bad decisions coming from Draco. He had tried to murder one of them, after all. He looked away, feeling the heat of mortification prickle the back of his neck. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his words floating in the silence of the corridor.

He felt the back of Harry’s gloved hand touch his.

“Hey,” Harry said.

Irrationally, Draco wanted to speak before Harry had time to say another word. Something he should have done, perhaps, months ago.

“No!” he said forcefully. “I am. I _am_ sorry. Let me say it. I should—I should say it. I _want_ to say it.” He was shaking a bit. Harry took a step back. He nodded carefully, watching Draco from behind his round spectacles, and Draco’s chest ached. “I know you liked him. I didn’t, but it’s no excuse. You have to know—you _have to know_ I never wanted—” Lucifer, he’d never been this uneloquent in his life. His throat felt painful and tight. The words refused to come. He forced them out anyway. “I never wanted to kill him, but choosing between him and my family...” Dumbledore’s last words flashed in his mind. _You’re not a killer, Draco._ He had hated Dumbledore more than ever in that moment. The Headmaster’s statement was a reminder that Draco’s association with Voldemort had him shooting too high for his level of evilness. A reminder that he’d never be good enough, that he’d always fail, as a human and as a demon and he really _had_ wished to kill him then and there for that.

He gave his head a shake. “I wasn’t brave enough to even pick a side and stick to it. People died because of me. I never meant for that to happen. I never thought...”

He felt Harry move closer, his gloved hand touching his arm, squeezing a bit. When he looked up, Harry was staring at him, a pained expression on his face. Draco’s vision was going blurry. If he cried in front of Harry the way Harry had cried in front of him a week ago, would that make them even? He smiled bitterly. “I guess I never thought siding with my father and with that snake-faced maniac would lead to _death._ So here you go. The final proof. I really am as ridiculously stupid as you’ve always thought, Potter.”

Next to him, Harry laughed. His eyes were shiny and wet, and Draco wondered if there would ever be a time where their interactions wouldn’t feel like digging up old pain. He squeezed Draco’s arm again, as if teetering on the brink of a hug.

“It’s Harry to you, Malfoy,” he grinned, at odds with the moment Draco was having. “And I never thought you were stupid.”

“You didn’t?”

“Merlin, no. Annoying? Yes. Arrogant and immature? Of course. Getting on my nerves every time you opened your mouth? You’re damn right you were. But _stupid?”_ He shook his head with an incredulous smile. “You have to be kidding me. You’re one of the cleverest people I know, and I’m best friends with _Hermione.”_

In spite of himself, Draco burst out laughing. “Don’t let her hear you say that.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Harry laughed, too, and the pain in Draco’s chest started receding. “Keep it to yourself, or she’ll turn us both into toads if she finds out.”

“Eh,” Draco shrugged. “I’ve been turned into a ferret before. Being a toad would definitely be an improvement, if you ask me.”

Harry gazed at Draco with delighted disbelief. His hand left Draco’s arm, not before trailing along the sleeve for a second.

They climbed the final steps to the Fourth Floor. Harry’s expression turned serious.

“You don’t have to apologise,” he told Draco, voice low. “I... I know what you’ve been through. I’m not saying you were never awful to me and my friends, but... the war had us all do some pretty fucked-up shite.” He nodded sharply at the look Draco gave him. “Yeah, even me. Mental, huh?” He gave a rueful, crooked little smile. “What I’m saying is... I think you’ve changed. You’ve changed your mind. About me, and about a lot of other things. Am I wrong?”

“You’re not.” Draco's voice was humiliatingly raspy. He wished he could look cooler, more in control, but there had always been something about Harry Potter that made him lose his composure. Him being _nice_ to Draco was only making matters worse. “I did change my mind.” He swallowed, surprised by the painful truth of his next statement. “I want to be better.”

Harry nodded. “Fair enough.” He pushed the Library door and turned to Draco. “Although if you really want a chance to see how your resolution to ‘be better’ could go, we should probably get started. Unless, you know. You want McGonagall to murder us both.”

Peering through the open door, they took in the quiet Library; the rows and rows of books, and a free table that seemed to be waiting for Harry and Draco. Harry pointed at it. With a playful little smile, he winked at Draco.

“So let’s get cracking, shall we?”


	8. An Explanation

**_Tuesday, 8 December 1998_ **

In Draco’s opinion, the one thing that didn’t benefit from McGonagall’s decision to break up Houses and group students by year instead was Quidditch.

That, and of course the infinite bullying possibilities that Houses offered to the dedicated, result-oriented demon.

Not that Draco could really count himself as one anymore.

Quidditch, then.

Draco had always loved Quidditch. It was the perfect combination of challenge, strategy and aggression—all things Draco used to excel at, to thrive on. It was also the closest he could come to flying in public without raising suspicion as to his real nature.

McGonagall had allowed the constitution of four Quidditch teams with players selected on their abilities and talent. Each team was made up of seven players, one of each year. Eighth Years, who were a post-war anomaly in the otherwise pristine new curriculum, had been deemed adults and thus excluded from the team.

Never ones to go without a fight, the former Quidditch players now in Eighth Year had pestered the Headmistress until she’d allowed them one hour of Quidditch practice, every Tuesday and Thursday after class, just to be left alone. Rumour had it that Weasley, Thomas, Greg and Blaise had camped in front of the stone gargoyle until McGonagall had come out in a flurry of tartan dressing gown and yelled _Alright, alright, you get an hour on Tuesdays and Thursdays and not a minute longer! Now get away from my office door lest I turn you all into mice!_

It was also, reportedly, the first time these four had ever agreed on anything. It might have been the reason why McGonagall had given in, more so than their stubbornness. What better example of House unity was there than two former Gryffindors and two former Slytherins organizing a sit-in to get something they all wanted?

The members of the unofficial Quidditch team were Weasley, Thomas, Greg, Blaise, Harry and Draco. Because of the team’s configuration and Harry’s oversized talent as a Seeker—or blatant lack of talent for any other position, Draco would have pettily thought a few years ago—they never played an actual Quidditch game, but rather split the team in two sides of three and passed a Quaffle while Harry on one side and Draco on another tried to catch the Snitch.

It always was—Draco hated to admit it—a lot of fun. All of them were good players, even Weasley, now that the pressure of performance was off. Often, the other Eighth Year students would gather on the stands to watch. There was also the constant side effect of having Harry Potter on the team: the gawking Potter fans. Students from all years huddling on the stands and cheering loudly if Harry so much as lifted his forefinger to push his slipping glasses up on his nose. The one time Draco has caught the Snitch at the beginning of the year—his first win against Harry ever, which was personal cause for celebration—the student body was so furious they had almost caused a riot. Since then, McGonagall had forbidden access to the Eighth Year's Quidditch for anyone who wasn’t an Eighth Year student, and the games had a much friendlier feel to them.

A Quaffle flew inches away from Draco's face.

“Oi! Malfoy! What about you stop gaping and you start _seeking_ the bloody Snitch?” Ron Weasley flew by, his freckled nose wrinkled in exasperation. Exasperation, not animosity, Draco noted. “Pay attention, will ya?” Weasley flew off to chase the Quaffle, followed by Blaise, who was on their side of the team this time.

Draco plunged after them, eyes scanning the Quidditch pitch in the hopes of making up for his momentary absence. Unable to locate the Snitch, he shook his head and steered his broom up, spiralling upwards and closer to Harry. While being close to Harry probably wasn’t the best idea for his concentration, it also increased his chances of leveling the field with the person who’d once been his arch-nemesis and his undefeated rival on the pitch.

Harry grinned when he saw Draco fly up to him, his black hair whipping in the cold wind. In his Quidditch gear, all leather shin guards and Gryffindor shirt and winter cloak billowing behind him, he was so unfairly attractive it made Draco ache. Merlin, how could he have let it happen? How could he have allowed himself to want Harry so much? Could he have picked a better specimen for his unrequited star-crossed crush?

 _Ways to kill Harry Potter: cast a_ Confundus _charm_ _on his broom, unbalance him, watch him as he plummets to the ground._

“You alright, Draco? You look a little pale,” Harry said, his smile wilting in concern. He flew down to Draco’s level, hand held out. Draco stood very still, willing his broom to behave. He would not let Harry touch him again; experience showed Harry’s touch tended to turn Draco into a flustered, babbling fool. It was just unfitting of a Malfoy and of a professional demon. “I mean,” continued Harry, this time with a tiny crooked smile, “you always look pale. I was wondering—”

“I am perfectly fine, thank you, Potter,” Draco said curtly.

Harry rolled his eyes but dropped his hand. “Merlin, Draco. I thought I asked you to call me Harry.”

“Old habits die hard.” It was the closest to an apology Draco wanted to give him. It was mean-spirited, he knew. It wasn’t Harry’s fault he felt that way about him; in fact, Harry had never done anything worthy of a crush.

Until the beginning of Eighth Year, that was.

Harry surveyed him from a safe distance of a few feet. A gust of wind swayed their brooms, sending a swathe of hair flying into Harry’s eyes. He lifted a hand to tuck it behind his ear.

“I know,” Harry said with a rueful look at Draco. “Trust me, it would be so much easier to keep calling you ‘Malfoy’.”

“What do you mean, it would be easier to call me ‘Mal—”

“Harry!”

“Draco!”

“Oi!”

“For Circe’s sake, you bloody wankers! The Snitch! THE SNITCH!”

Harry jumped as if burned, frantically looking around. Draco’s stomach dropped. For the second day in a row, he had unwittingly initiated a conversation with Harry. For the first time in his life, he’d have given anything for the Snitch to get lost into the Forbidden Forest, get swallowed by a bloody Thestral for all he cared, if it meant he could continue to talk to Harry.

Their little chat, though, seemed miles away from Harry’s mind. Yards below Draco, spurred on by their teammates’ cries, Harry was barreling towards the fluttering golden ball at a vertiginous speed. Draco, rooted to the spot, didn’t even try to catch up to him.

Mere feet from the ground, Harry’s fist closed around the Snitch, and Draco heard the mixed cries of “Alright! Harry!” and “Malfoy, I’m going to catch you and _gut_ you!”—the latter coming, ironically, from Draco’s good friend Blaise.

With a sigh, Draco rode a warmer downward wind current and landed a safe distance from the excited little group surrounding Harry.

“Merlin, Harry, should we start looking for a replacement for Malfoy? You’ve caught the Snitch at nearly every game, it’s almost not fun anymore,” Dean Thomas was saying.

“Nah,” Weasley was waving him off good-naturedly, “Malfoy is one of the best there are. Remember how many games Slytherin used to win when he played for them?” He turned to look at Draco and shrugged apologetically. “As much as it pains me, you’re not all bad, Malfoy.”

Everyone laughed and Draco smiled, stupidly pleased by Weasley’s reluctant praise. He was making his way across the pitch towards his teammates when Weasley continued, “Honest, Harry, sometimes I can’t understand why Gin even left you. How can you even still be single? You’re every girl’s dream boyfriend, mate.”

Draco nearly tripped. It felt like swallowing a bucket of ice while simultaneously bursting into flames.

The others hooted with laughter—first of all Harry. Dean Thomas was pushing Weasley playfully, “Hey! What are you saying? I wasn't good enough to date Ginny?” and Weasley was laughing, “You’re not the worst, but it’s not like you’re the _Chosen One,_ Thomas!”

And Harry...

Harry stood in the middle of the group, cheeks pink, eyes crinkled with lighthearted laughter, head thrown back. He was _laughing._ He was _laughing about his break-up with Ginny Weasley._

Harry wasn’t dating Ginny Weasley anymore.

Harry was _single._

An earth-shattering fact Draco had been unaware of until this very minute.

Harry’s gaze met his across the pitch, and he smiled, brightly, openly, a smile that Draco knew was meant just for him.

Draco felt his knees wobble, his own smile tremble, his ribs ache with the pain of his breaths in the cold evening air. Oh, sweet Lucifer. This was worse than a crush.

Draco was the worst demon in the world.

 _Dear Mephisto, I can explain,_ he thought.

Harry’s smile was dazzling, the sun was setting over Hogwarts, the crisp night air smelled of fir trees, firewood and freshly fallen snow. In this moment, it was so easy to forget everything about his true nature. Harry called out for him, his friends playfully shoved him, and Draco walked across the pitch to join him.


	9. A Crackling Fire

**_Wednesday, 9 December 1998_ **

It was past eleven when Draco walked into the Eighth Year Common Room, the books he had picked from the Library tucked under his arm. At this hour, he thought the Common Room would be deserted. Students usually didn’t stay up this late on weeknights.

Draco was surprised to find the familiar shape of Harry on the sofa facing the hearth. Curled up cosily, his legs tucked under him, he appeared to be shaking his head and shoulders in rhythm to something Draco couldn’t hear. Strange. Stranger still, he didn’t move when Draco approached him.

“Still up, Potter?” Draco asked him softly. Try as he may, the name _Harry_ did not come easily in a casual context.

When Harry didn’t respond, Draco walked around the couch, looking at him curiously. When Draco came across his line of vision, Harry jumped. He wore strange white contraptions in his ears, linked by a cord to a flat round machine, and he pulled them out hurriedly, flushing a little. The little contraptions fell to his lap.

“Hi,” he mumbled. “Sorry, didn’t hear you.”

Draco stood near the sofa, unsure what to do next.

“Not a problem. I was just about to—”

“What have you got there?” Harry asked, pointing at the books Draco was holding. His cheeks were still pink and his eyes seemed huge, almost unnaturally green in the firelight. Draco held out the books for him to see. Harry read the titles out loud.

 _“A Modern Guide To The Professional Wizarding World? Wizarding Jobs In Britain?_ And what is this one—” he squinted at the title, “ _The Oldde And Very Arcane Guydde to Human Resoyrces?”_

“It's old Wizarding English _,_ Pott—Harry,” Draco said, snatching the books back from Harry's hands.

“Doesn't tell me which class you're studying this for—oh.” Harry's expression turned teasing at once. “Have you been researching for our career choice assignment?”

Draco felt himself blush. Heaven dammit. He let his shoulders drop with a huff.

“Well, _someone_ has to be the responsible one here, don't you think? We clearly have no idea what we're doing. Imagine if we come back to McGonagall with something as predictable as ‘Harry Potter, Head Auror’ and ‘Draco Malfoy, Captain Of The England Quidditch Team’?”

Harry laughed. “‘Professional Quidditch player’? Is this _really_ a career fitting for a Malfoy?”

Draco eyed him warily. “Are you making fun of me?”

“Maybe a little, yeah.”

“Well, maybe the Chosen One can afford to bumble about as though his decisions have no consequences,” Draco commented curtly. “I, on the contrary, am almost all out of options. I am a Marked ex-Death Eater, after all. I don’t expect recruiters to fall over themselves to hire me. When I send my application for a job, there shall be no Harry Potter pleading for me to convince my prospective employers.”

He dropped himself on the other end of the sofa, arms still crossed, eyes on the crackling fire. The fireplace was decked with glittering tinsel and branches of holly. The merry, Christmassy look of it only added to the hurt Draco was feeling.

“I'm sorry,” Harry’s voice came from nearer than Draco expected. He had scooted across the sofa, closer to him. “I was just trying to make a joke. It was insensitive of me. I apologise.”

Draco looked up. Harry was so close. He had angled his body towards Draco, one leg folded under him, the other dangling from the side of the sofa.

Draco licked his lips and nodded.

“It's okay.”

“We’ll find something. For the both of us. Okay?” Harry ran his hand through his hair before pointing at the books in Draco's lap. “Anything interesting in there?”

Draco opened one of the books just to have an excuse to peel his eyes away from Harry. “The options are countless, apparently. There’s too much choice, and nothing to guide us through the various alternatives.” He pointed at a decision diagram that started with the question, ‘Do you enjoy riding Hippogriffs?’. “I'm starting to think McGonagall is as clueless about this as we are.”

Harry leaned closer, his chin almost resting on Draco's shoulder. He smelled of soap, firewood and warm wool; achingly ordinary. This boy, the first person who's ever made Draco _feel_ anything besides indifferent contempt—intrigued, jealous, fascinated, infatuated—was also just this: an _ordinary boy._

Draco held his breath.

Harry leaned back. “You're awfully concerned about this. You know we can take time to figure things out, even change our minds as we go along, right? Nothing is going to actually happen to us if we don’t pick one professional path now and stick to it forever.”

Draco looked at him sternly.

“You mean besides disappointing our Headmistress?”

Harry gave a theatrical shudder. “Merlin help us.” He took a book from the pile on Draco's lap. “Here. Let me help. I can read this one and you read the others. We'll go faster that way.”

“Pretty sure I'd read these books faster by myself.”

“Merlin, you’re such a swot.” Harry laughed. “I just want to help. Will you let me?”

For no good reason, Draco couldn’t meet Harry’s eyes. “Fine.”

Still smiling, Harry put his chin in his hand, elbow resting on the back of the sofa. Draco meticulously placed his books on the floor next to the sofa, wondering if somewhere in Harry's open, friendly attitude, there was a cue for him to leave. He came up short. Harry was giving no indication of wanting to be alone, so Draco stayed there, hands clasped in his lap, watching the fire. his mind was frantically wiring for something to say, for something to justify his presence here, so late at night.

So he said, unthinking:

“You and the Weasley girl aren't together anymore?”

Harry snorted softly. “Why, do you know anyone you'd like to set me up with?”

_Yes._

“No. I'm just—” Draco hated that he was already blushing, “—I'm sorry. I guess.”

He wasn't sorry. When he ventured a glance at Harry, he could see Harry looked anything but heartbroken.

“It's okay, honestly,” he shrugged, still smiling that crooked little smile as though he knew a secret Draco didn't. “It was mutual. We weren't really each other's type.”

“Oh?” Draco looked up,. “You're not into redheads?”

“I'm not that much into girls.”

Draco stilled, frozen to the spot. Had he— _had Harry just admitted_ —? Hope beating in his throat, hands squeezed into fists to quell the trembling, Draco swallowed.

“Oh.”

Harry looked pleased. Even a little smug. “Yep.”

“Is it new, or...?”

Harry burst out laughing.

 _“New?_ Merlin, no. I think I’ve always known. I never had time to acknowledge it until recently, though. And then Ginny told me she thought she was attracted to Luna, and—”

“The Weaslette is attracted to Lovegood?!” Draco almost fell from the sofa.

“Well, yeah.” Harry eyed him curiously. “You do know they're dating, right?”

“I didn't,” Draco said weakly. He rubbed his temples. Tonight was turning out to be a bit too much new information to process.

“You don't...have a problem with it?” Harry asked slowly, "Do you?"

“No!” Draco said quickly. “Not at all. I just—I didn’t know these things about you.”

Harry simply nodded. The conversation lulled.

The thing was... Draco had always known he had a preference for humans who came in a shape similar to his. He had heard there were demons out there who specialized in mongering hate against people who did.

He’d never cared for that particular brand of evil.

He was burning to tell Harry, but something held him back. He looked back at the fire, unable to maintain eye contact.

Harry’s hand slid across the small space between their bodies on the sofa. It came to rest an inch from Draco’s, lying on the cushion at his side. His hand stayed there. Draco looked at Harry and broke the silence.

“What are these?”

He touched the tip of his index to one of the small, round, white contraptions that Harry had worn in his ears when Draco had entered the common room. Harry seemed to jolt out of a trance. Regretfully, Draco watched his hand retreat into his lap.

“These? Oh. They’re headphones.”

“Head...phones?”

“Yeah. You put them in your ears to listen to music,” Harry explained. A curious sense of relief washed over Draco at the normality of their conversation. He noticed Harry had relaxed as well: he was thumbing one of the headphones, bringing it close to his face. “It’s a Muggle invention,” he continued. “I don’t think there’s a wizarding equivalent... at least not yet.”

“So,” Draco asked, “you can listen to music with these? And nobody else can hear it?”

“Yeah. That’s the point. Well, that, and the fact that you can take your music with you.”

“Like a portable Wireless with a Privacy charm,” Draco mused.

Harry sniggered. “Exactly, yeah.”

Draco looked up from the headphones at Harry. “Can I try?” He asked. The earnestness in his voice would have put any demon to shame.

Harry’s face lit up. “Of course! Here,” he said, handing Draco one of the headphones. “Put it in your left ear, I’ll put the other one in my right. Like this,” he inserted the rounded tip of a headphone in his right ear, “See?”

Draco placed the headphone in his ear. It was a curious sensation: the sounds of the room blocked only from one side, the crackling of the fire and the creaking of the castle around them still permeating his other ear.

Harry leaned in so Draco could hear him better. He was starting to suspect Harry enjoyed being close to him. The thought sent a little jolt to his gut, and humiliatingly, he felt his cock twitch in his pants at the contact of Harry’s breath on the side of his neck.

“I’m going to play some music now,” he murmured, too close to Draco for comfort. “It’s Muggle, and it’s brilliant. Not a word about my musical tastes. Understood, Malfoy?”

There was a smile in his voice. Draco didn’t need—didn’t _want—_ to look at him to know. His cock was thickening by the minute. Draco crossed his legs and strategically placed his hands over his lap.

“If you’re worried about me mocking your Muggle tastes, you’re sadly mistaken, Potter,” he said haughtily. “I’m a changed person, if you haven’t noticed.”

“I have noticed,” Harry’s breath tickled his neck again before he sat back with a smug smile. “Get ready to have your mind blown.”

He pressed the button on the round device at his side, and music unlike anything Draco had ever heard started playing in his left ear.

He brought his hand to his ear in surprise. Harry smiled and delicately pried his hand away. He kept Draco’s hand in his, bringing it down on the sofa. He shook his head and mouthed, “Listen,” as if Draco could pay attention to anything when Harry’s hand was covering his. If this wasn’t distracting enough, the lyrics were utterly incomprehensible: they were a jumble of words and references—Muggle, no doubt—that Draco lacked the knowledge to understand.

They sat in silence for a moment, Harry slowly closing his eyes to enjoy the music, Draco watching him, trying to make sense of what he was listening to.

After a while, he moved his hand from under Harry’s.

“Muggles have such a vivid imagination,” he murmured. “I mean, I guess you’d have to, to come up with these lyrics. Do they really believe they could put a man on the moon?”

Harry looked at him incredulously for a second before throwing his head back and laughing out loud.

“What? What did I say?” Draco asked.

“You don’t—you don’t know Muggles put a man on the moon?” Harry was fighting to regain his composure.

“Wait...it’s real?” Draco was baffled. He would have thought this kind of news would have arrived to the magic world. He would have thought Mephistopheles, his appointed demonic mentor, would have shared the information when they’d meet. Not for the first time in recent months, it hit Draco like a Bludger in the face: how sheltered he’d been, how closed off from the wider world, working as a teenage demon in wizarding communities.

It made it easier to understand how Voldemort had come to power when so many people, like Draco, only knew about their own little world and their immediate interests.

“Yes, it’s real, Draco,” Harry smiled, wiping eyes wet from laughter. “It happened nearly thirty years ago. Merlin, you really have been living under a metaphorical rock, haven’t you?”

“I have, unfortunately,” Draco conceded. He listened to the song until the final notes of the guitar faded out.

“Well?” Harry asked him. He looked almost shy. “Besides learning a newsworthy piece of information—and I’m not talking about my sexual preferences—” he smiled, and Draco squirmed on the sofa, “what did you think of the song?”

Draco gave it some thought.

“I liked it,” he said eventually. “A lot. What's the name of the band?”

“It's _R.E.M.”_ Harry said. “They're brilliant, aren't they?”

Draco rubbed his jaw. He gazed at Harry, who brought his socked feet under him on the sofa and smiled at Draco expectantly. 

So Draco asked, “Do you have more space-related music I can listen to?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** The song that Harry and Draco listen to in this chapter is _Man On The Moon_ by R.E.M.


	10. A Handful Of Nuts

**_Thursday, 10 December 1998_ **

At the end of classes, they met again in a quiet corner of the Library.

Draco watched as Harry pulled books, quills and parchment from his school bag. In the warm candlelight, he looked as any of the other students around them. Yet his magic constantly buzzed against Draco's skin, a reminder that this ordinary-looking kid was one of the most powerful wizards Draco had known.

With a sharp swish of his wand, Harry pulled up a _Mufflatio_ around them. Draco felt the tingling wave of magic surround him. All of the sudden, the atmosphere was as warm and cosy as if they'd been sitting directly by the fire. Draco remembered finding Harry by the fireplace yesterday.

His chest felt tight, hot, as if a _Lumos_ was pulsing inside. It was how he always felt around Harry these days.

He was in love, after all. He was beginning to understand his symptoms were nothing unusual.

He folded his cloak over the back of his chair and leaned closer to Harry.

“I browsed the book you gave me,” Harry said. The _Mufflatio_ ensured their conversation stayed private. It was the perfect configuration for a discussion about the future of the Boy Who Lived and the youngest Death Eater alive. “I counted about forty-three different personality tests we could take to determine our ideal careers.” He gave Draco a conspiratorial little smile. “You were right. McGonagall doesn’t have a clue what she asked us to do.”

“Told you,” Draco smiled back, and then they stood smiling at each other for what felt to Draco like a embarrassingly long time.

Harry had the habit of making Draco’s ribs feel too tight for his lungs, sure. Yet making a fool of himself just wouldn’t do.

He cleared his throat.

“Shall we get started, then?” he asked.

“Of course, yeah,” Harry said, casting a look around them. “I don’t think there’s any avoiding the personality tests, though.”

“Luckily, we have plenty of material, see?” Draco picked one of his books and opened it at the page he was interested in, placing it in front of Harry.

“Oh, yeah, definitely prime personality test quality, Draco.” Harry looked at him skeptically. “Remind me again, what are we supposed to be doing? Making an important decision for our futures, or filling out a _Witch Weekly_ quiz?”

“You won’t decide anything with that attitude,” Draco shook his head, amused. _“You_ are Harry Potter. You could do almost anything. Isn’t it exciting? Look.”

He pointed his wand at the book and waved it in a slow, complex motion, holding still and visualising the thought he hadn’t quite dared forming until now: ‘This is what I’d like to be...’. The questionnaire on the page started filling itself, ticking the boxes that matched what Draco’s answers would have been. At the bottom of the page, a score of 98 percent appeared in dark green ink. Draco lifted it up to admire his wand-work. He wasn’t surprised by the test’s result, even though it was comforting to have his intuition validated. Harry had moved close behind him, looking at the result over Draco’s shoulder.

“Impressive,” he murmured. Draco canted his head to look at him. Harry was gazing at him, green eyes intense and melancholy. Draco swallowed.

“Erm,” he said, stepping back. “Thank you.”

Harry seemed to snap out of it, too. _“Creative._ Your personality type is _Creative._ I actually don’t know why I’m surprised. This is so you.” He rubbed the back of his head, looking as though he’d said too much. “Er, is there anything else you thought you’d be?” he asked quickly. “I mean, being Creative sounds fun,” he added, “but what then? Hermione thinks we might get better results if we just... talk to each other about our options.”

“You told Granger about this?”

Harry laughed softly. “I always tell Hermione about everything.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Shocking. Although... She is frighteningly clever, I admit. Besides, with her Muggle background, she might even know about Muggle jobs, which the wizarding books I found in the Library can’t help us with.”

Harry, who had begun to scratch notes on a piece of parchment, stopped short.

“What?”

“I said she might know more about our subject matter than these books.”

“No... you said, _with her Muggle background.”_

Draco blushed. “Yes, well... I never said it was a bad thing, did I? It’s just a fact.”

Harry rose to his feet. “Exactly.”

“So what’s wrong?” Draco said defensively.

“I was just surprised,” Harry said. He looked embarrassed and Draco couldn’t fathom why. “A few years ago you would have never said that about her.”

“Oh.” Harry had been surprised that Draco hadn’t reflexively insulted his best friend. For Draco, two things were clear: one, he must have really been an excellent bully back then, if his intimidation tactics were so second-nature to him; two, he clearly sucked at his job now, if he could forget his role so easily in Harry’s presence. He could choose to pick up his own slack and call Granger that horrible slur he’d used in Second Year. Or he could choose to stay on the path that seemed more and more natural these days, the path that had led him to befriending Harry.

So he said: “Yes. I know. I’m deeply ashamed of the way I behaved toward you and your friends in the past. I think I’ve made it clear to you multiple times. But I realise I’ve never properly apologised to Granger, Weasley, Longbottom and so many other of my classmates. I'll make a point to do it next time the occasion arises.” He gave Harry a rueful glance. “I’m really not the best person, as you may know, Harry.”

Instead of stepping away in disgust, Harry grinned. “That’s okay. The ‘not best person’ part, I mean. You’re no angel, Draco, but neither am I. No matter what the newspapers may say about me.” Dumbfounded, Draco couldn’t do anything but stare. Harry had no way of knowing about his true nature, of course,but him admitting he wasn’t perfect—when he was the _most perfect person_ Draco had ever met—was utterly ludicrous.

“I’m not even sure you need to apologise to anyone, really,” Harry continued. “Tell you the truth, Hermione would probably be terribly disconcerted by a formal apology. And Neville would be terrified. Still,” he said thoughtfully, “I think if you did, they would appreciate it.”

“Thanks,” Draco said.

Night had fallen around them. In the dark sky outside the window, the first stars had appeared, twinkling feebly in the shivering winter air. Trapped under Harry’s _Mufflatio_ , their table was a perfectly safe, quiet corner.

Draco rubbed his jaw, unfolding his parchment.

“Do you want to talk through it, then? I thought writing down everything that appeals to us for a career might be a good start. It should give us a good basis for personality tests and discussion.”

“Okay,” Harry said. “Also, I—er, I brought something.” He rummaged inside his school bag and took out a small pouch of dried fruit and nuts, pouring some into his palm. “I thought it would be nice to have a snack until dinner time,” he added, almost apologetic. He held out his hand to Draco. “I wanted to thank you for the chocolate truffles the other day, and these always remind me of Christmas.”

Draco picked an almond. His fingertips brushed Harry’s palm. It was warm and soft, and Draco’s breath caught in his throat.

“Thank you.”

“Welcome,” Harry said, leaning closer, the whole left side of his body touching Draco’s right. Draco put the almond in his mouth and watched Harry. The candle on their table gave off a soft halo of light, reflecting against his glasses and highlighting his dark hair.

Draco curled his hands around the book. He took a breath, and said:

“Thank you for everything. Not just these, but... yesterday... what you told me.”

Harry looked up at him. “Yeah?”

“Yes. You told me about you, and Ginny, and how she was dating Luna, and how you preferred men...” Draco knew he was blushing but he pushed his bashfulness away and trudged on, “and I think it would have been a good opportunity for me to be honest with you about something too.”

“And what would that be?” Harry asked, patiently.

“It would be that I—I’m not so much into girls either.”

Harry let out a laugh.

“Oh, Draco,” he said before Draco had time to feel hurt. “Thank you _—so much—_ for telling me, but... I think I knew.”

“You did? How—?”

“If you were into girls, you’d have been with Pansy Parkinson, no doubt.” Harry shrugged and popped a candied slice of orange in his mouth. “I don’t think any straight boy in his right mind would turn _that_ girl down.”

Draco laughed. “Good call, Potter.”

When he looked over at Harry, Harry was watching him, hands in his lap. His green eyes gleamed in the candlelight, and Draco wished everything was as simple as holding out his hand, not to grab a piece of dried fruit, but to touch Harry’s fingers, entwine them with his, set things in motion.

Not only was Harry single, but he had come out to Draco and Draco had come out to him—Draco who, apparently, was notoriously _not into girls._

“Thank you, Harry,” he said. He’d never meant it more.

“I know how much it means to tell people,” Harry said softly. “I’m... touched. That you’ve told me.”

The moment was warm, easy, intimate. Something had shifted in their friendship. Draco couldn’t tell if it had happened tonight, or if it had been months, maybe years in the making.

Harry smiled and touched the back of his hand. He nodded towards the career books.

“So... what do you think is the best way to decide what we want to do?”

“Studying. Or charging blindly into the future,” Draco sighed. “I guess I’ll take the former, and you’ll take the latter, as usual.”

“And then?”

“And then...” Draco smiled slowly, “we ask your friend Hermione Granger if we’ve made the right decision.”


	11. A Cuddle Interrupted

_**Friday, 11 December 1998** _

This morning, before breakfast, Draco tiptoed down the stairs to the Common Room. He had a task to complete. It would have been so much easier to ask Harry, but Draco still had too much to prove. To Harry, and to himself.

“Erm. Hi.”

Hermione Granger’s impossibly sharp dark eyes lifted up to meet his, half-obscured by a mane of bushy brown hair.

“Draco? Hi.”

She shifted in Weasley’s arms to better look at him. Both were cuddled up on the sofa by the fire. Weasley was deep in conversation with Seamus Finnigan, also curled up around his own boyfriend at the foot of the sofa. At the other end of it, Pansy, wrapped around a Neville Longbottom who looked chuffed and terrified in equal measure by his own good luck, stared at Draco in surprise. She widened her eyes as if to say, ‘Striking up a conversation with Granger? What’s got into you?’ He lifted an defiant eyebrow at her to retort, ‘Longbottom? Now that’s new.’ She had the decency to blush lightly and look away.

Granger cleared her throat expectantly.

“I, er—might need your help,” Draco told her. _“Harry_ and I might need your help.”

“Alright,” Granger said noncommittally. “What do you need my help with?”

“Checking my Arithmancy calculations—” he started, but Granger had already extricated herself from her boyfriend’s arms and jumped down the sofa. Weasley protested at the loss but she didn’t seem to notice.

“Really?” Her eyes were shining excitedly. Harry had warned Draco that Granger was the kind of person who could never turn down a problem to solve. Clearly, he had been right. “It is Professor Vector’s homework? Because I solved the triple equation problem two days ago and I could show you—oh, Draco, you’ll see, it’s simple once you understand how it works—”

Fighting down an amused smile, Draco interrupted. “Thank you. That’s not it.”

“Oh. What then?”

“It’s for our—erm, _assignment.”_

Granger’s face lit up. “Of course! Harry told me you had started working on it.” She looked at him appraisingly. “Looking into Muggle careers as well as Wizarding ones is very clever.”

Draco led her to the table where his parchments were spread out.

“Thank you. I wish I could say it was my idea, but I’ve read about it in a book. Mind you, it was a footnote, but—”

Hermione’s steady gaze was unnerving. “Perhaps it was in a book,” she mused, “but you clearly took the advice to heart.” She leaned over the parchments covered in Draco’s neat scrawl, Arithmancy formulas based on the personality tests he and Harry had taken the previous day. “Harry was excited to be paired with you,” she added almost as an afterthought.

Draco’s stomach flipped. He could feel the tips of his ears heating. “He was?”

Hermione, engrossed in her reading, simply nodded. After a minute, she pointed at a line on Draco’s parchment.

“Here. This isn’t right. If you compute this formula with the affinity index you have here, your people skills rating will never be applied correctly. And have you taken your foreign language proficiency into account?”

She took his quill and struck out Draco’s formula to write her own below.

Draco pushed her hand to look at it.

“Ah—wait. Your formula works for _lower_ people skills ratings. I don’t want to make assumptions about me, but Harry’s is quite high according to this test.” He pointed at _A Modern Guide To The Professional Wizarding World._ “If the formula still doesn’t give realistic results, I thought a combination of Predictive and Algebra spells could help. My understanding is that all these tests have a Muggle base to them. It would be brilliant if we had access to more, but the Library has wizarding books only. Then we could just help the personality tests along with magic.”

Granger straightened and pushed her hair out of her eyes. She watched Draco in silence.

“What?” he said, unnerved by the scrutiny.

“You’ve changed,” she murmured. “Harry’s right. It wasn’t just the apology you gave me at the beginning of the year, was it?”

Draco blushed.

“I don’t know if I’ve changed. I’ve just...had a lot of time to think things through. I regret... a lot of my actions. I’ve never been a good person” _—understatement of the century,_ he thought—”and I might never become one. But I want to try.”

“Draco, you saved our lives,” Granger said, a sad tilt to her eyebrows. “The rest is... the rest is in the past, if you’re truly sorry about it. Harry... the way he talks about you... I trust him. I think I can learn to trust you. I don’t want to hold more grudges than strictly necessary.” She put her hand on his on top of the parchments and smiled.

Draco’s throat was tight. “You got all this from a career-choice formula?” he croaked.

She laughed. “Maybe. An unrepentant Draco Malfoy would never have lowered himself to including Muggle parametres in his calculations, would he?”

***

At the Eighth Year table, Granger laid an order form between their plates.

“Do you really need to be doing this here and now?” Weasley asked, gesturing with his fork, threatening to drip grease from the slice of bacon that was dangling from it. Granger swatted his hand away.

“Ron! If you stain my form, I swear...”

Weasley rubbed his wrist with a hurt look. “It’s not _your_ form. It’s Harry’s and Malfoy’s,” he muttered reproachfully.

“Still,” Granger said. “What if their order is refused because there are stains on the paper?”

Draco took a sip of his pumpkin juice to avoid everyone’s eyes. Hermione Granger had the name of a Greek goddess and the will of a Roman general. He was as admirative of her as he was scared of her. Sometimes, he could swear he still felt the sting of the slap she’d given him in third year. He never wanted to be on the wrong side of her anger again.

Weasely must have bigger bollocks than Draco gave him credit for if he could handle her.

“Hermione, it’s going to be fine,” Harry told her around a mouthful of scrambled eggs. He gave Draco a small smile from across the table. “I think that together, Draco and I are clever enough to fill out an order form from Waterstones _._ Not as clever as _you,_ but clever enough.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t try to be funny, Harry. Unless you know how to do this?”

“It can’t be that hard, can it?” Harry said. “Draco has already done the research. And I grew up watching my aunt fill out subscription forms for _Readers’ Digest._ I think I could handle it.”

Granger turned her thunderous gaze at Draco and Draco threw his hands up. “Don’t look at me! I don’t know a thing! I am beyond grateful for your help!” He scowled at Harry. “Leave me out of it, Potter.”

Harry laughed, and it seemed to mellow Granger out a bit. Glancing at Harry, she said, “It’s not just filling out the form. Sending the payment in can be tricky. Waterstones is a Muggle shop, so unless you actually make the trip to the nearest Muggle town—I’d like to see the two of you try—you'll have to find a way to pay that isn’t Galleons and Sickles. A Muggle cheque, or a bank transfer. For which you need a Muggle bank account.” She crossed her arms on the table and surveyed Draco and Harry expectantly. “Remind me again, at which Muggle bank do you have accounts open?”

Abashed, they exchanged a look. Draco had to admit neither of them had thought of this. He wasn’t joking when he said he was grateful for Granger’s help, or they would still be in the Library next June, trying to figure out what to do with their lives.

Granger signed the order form with a triumphant slash of her quill.

“I’ll take care of the order. I can make the Muggle payment—my parents opened an account at Lloyds for me when I was sixteen.” She folded the paper and placed it in an envelope, her stern gaze traveling from Harry to Draco. “I’d like you to pay me back as soon as possible. Wizarding money is fine. Not that I worry that you won’t, but... it’s for the principle.”

“Of course,” Draco hastened to say. “Perfectly understandable. Thank you for helping us in the first place.”

“Yeah, thank you, ‘Mione," Harry said, shoveling more eggs into his mouth. Lucifer, the man still had the manners of a caveman. Draco's mother would choke if she ever witnessed her favourite hero’s table manners.

It was horrifically endearing.

“You’re the best,” Weasley told her, pulling her close to him with an arm around her shoulders and kissing the top of her bushy head. “Helping Malfoy...you truly are an angel,” he added playfully.

“You have no idea,” Draco muttered, buttering a piece of toast. It wasn’t even half past eight in the morning, classes were about start soon, and he felt as though he had already lived through a full day.

“The friends of my friends are _my friends,”_ she said, sipping her tea. She didn’t look at him, but he heard the smile in her voice. “Welcome to the club, Draco.”

“The club is made up of war heroes, young adults still in school, and former ferrets, Malfoy,” Weasley explained, mock-punching him in the shoulder.

Surprised and pleased, Draco laughed. He caught Harry’s eyes across the table, over the rim of his glass of pumpkin juice. His green eyes sparkled with mirth as well as something Draco couldn’t decipher.

“It’s really not that selective,” Harry grinned. “You’re going to hate it.”


	12. A Skating Rink

**_Saturday, 12 December 1998_ **

“Do you even know how to ice skate?”

Harry was watching him, worried and amused, his lifted eyebrows taunting Draco. He had his elbows on the fence of the skating rink. The rest of the Eighth Year group zoomed past him on the rink, bursts of laughter and the occasional helpless yelp reaching Draco before they moved further down the ice.

“Of course I know how to ice skate,” Draco lifted his chin haughtily. The effect was dimmed by the slightly sweaty swathe of hair that fell in his eyes as he did. He blew the hair away indignantly. “Or I wouldn’t have agreed to it, Potter.”

Harry rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Fine. Join us when you’re ready.”

Grumbling under his breath, Draco pulled the laces of his skates so hard one of them snapped. He pointed his wand at it and muttered a furious _Reparo._ Lucifer, could someone remind him why he had agreed to this?

Ah, yes, of course.

He’d thought—foolishly—that this would have been more of a _date._ Not a group outing with a bunch of ex-Gryffindors, most of whom seemed to only tolerate Draco thanks to his recent friendship with Harry.

What had Harry’s exact words been, again?

_“Do you want to go to Hogsmeade with me next weekend?”_

That’s what he had said, hadn’t he?

_“With me and my friends.”_

Draco had conveniently forgotten about the addition.

His gaze followed Harry on the rink, his winter cloak billowing behind him as he effortlessly sprinted Dean Thomas across the ice. Weasley, Granger and Finnigan were cheering and skating along. They all looked like normal teenagers enjoying an afternoon off school, their faces flushed and unworried as though none of them had lived through loss and destruction. Envy burned in Draco’s throat. It would never be like this for him, would it? He would never have this easy camaraderie, this uncomplicated bond with Harry. Easy and uncomplicated simply wasn’t Draco’s style.

He finished tying the laces of his skates with angry, jerky movements and stood.

He could do this. He could be friendly and fun. Couldn’t he?

Holding the fence, he walked clumsily to the skating rink gate. He hadn’t skated in a long time. His Sixth and Seventh Years hadn’t really afforded him this kind of lighthearted fun. There was a good chance he would make a fool of himself.

Nothing to it now. He let go of the fence and launched himself on the ice.

He glided forward on trembling legs, like a fawn taking its first steps. Luckily, no one was looking at him yet. Harry was on the other side of the rink, laughing as Finnigan kept Weasley in some sort of playful headlock and Weasley tried to fight Finnigan off with pretend punches in the side. Dean Thomas cheered his boyfriend on; Hermione Granger scowled at the fuss with a reluctant half-smile. The weight of loneliness settled over Draco. Slytherins never had this kind of raucous fun. How could Harry have thought Draco would fit in?

Cautiously, he started skating, the blades of his skates carving lines on the ice behind him. Skating was like flying, in a way: the gliding speed, the cold air whipping his hair, the graceful motions of his limbs. It came back quickly. Draco skated around the rink a few times, more self-assured with each turn he took. It felt good, actually. It felt _free_. He pushed himself more, skating faster. His breathing picked up speed and he let out an exhilarated exhale. There was so much joy in moving like this. He always forgot about it until he was flying, or skating, or running. Lucius had always only valued Quidditch for the prestige it could bring. Physical activity, with its lot of sweat, exertion and flushed faces, had always be deemed unfit of a Malfoy.

And enjoying anything as basely human as ice skating was unfit of a demon.

Draco shook his head and pushed the thoughts away. He reached the end of the rink, gathered speed and successfully spun himself around. Lucifer, it felt so good. How could he have let other people dictate what he should or shouldn’t enjoy for so long? Who cared, really, if something was unfit of a Malfoy? Who cared if demons weren’t supposed to have this sort of easy fun? Nobody was watching Draco now, so why did it matter?

In the distance, someone whooped. Maybe it was Harry. Someone was watching him, then. Bursting with pleasure and pride, Draco raced to the other end of the rink, ready to do another spin. This time he might try to add a jump to it, see if Harry would like it, see if he’d be impressed. He sped forward, head down, visualising the figure he’d try this time. At the last moment, as he neared the end of the rink, just when he was preparing to jump and spin, he looked up.

There were two black ravens perched on the fence, their white eyes on Draco.

Draco faltered, but he was going too fast. He had already started to spin. There was a split-second of mortifying realisation, then he felt himself fall. The tips of his blades caught in the ice and he landed inelegantly, his elbow hitting the cold hard surface.

What hurt more than the pain of the fall was the feeling of five pairs of Gryffindor eyes on him. There had been witnesses to his failure. Draco closed his eyes and thumped his forehead on the unforgiving ice.

When he looked up again, the ravens were gone.

And Harry hadn’t moved from where he stood.

***

“Sorry about your elbow,” Harry said as they walked out of Dervish and Banges. “That fall looked painful.”

“I’m fine, Potter,” Draco pretended to be absorbed in the contemplation of the new cauldrons displayed in the shop window. The skating rink incident still stang. He wished Harry wouldn’t bring it up.

He wished he could _Obliviate_ the whole thing from his own memory.

After a beat, Harry and his friends had skated over to where Draco lay on the ice. Somehow it had been even worse than the fall: their solicitude had felt forced and unnatural coming from people who used to despise him. Harry had helped him up and they’d skated some more, but Draco had lost his spark and he couldn’t wait to leave the rink.

After, the others had scattered: Granger had said she needed to stop by the post office to see if they could deliver the Muggle order form she had filled the previous day. The other boys had made a go for the Three Broomsticks. Harry had asked Draco if he would help him shop for Christmas presents. Draco had said yes. Not because he was truly excited by the prospective of going from shop to shop, but because he was a hopeless fool. Any excuse to spend time alone with Harry was valid.

In the streets of Hogsmeade, the cheerful spirit permeated everything, painfully at odds with Draco’s rush of self-loathing. The reparations that had been made were objectively impressive. Draco had not expected Hogsmeade to look so festive, so soon after the war. On the first Hogsmeade trip of the school year, the Wizarding town had looked utterly dismal: many of its buildings had collapsed, half the shops’ windows were shattered and gaping in the cold October air, and its main street had looked ripped open by the Blasting curses of the Battle and the steps of Voldemort’s giants. Now almost all the shops had reopened, the craters in the middle of the main street had been filled out, the streets and shops had been decked with fairy lights and bright ornaments, and Celestina Warbeck’s greatest Christmas hits oozed out of magical speakers all over town.

“I think Ron would like this one,” Harry said, sticking his nose to the shop’s window like a little child. “He left his favourite chess set at Hogwarts at the end of Sixth Year. He says it’s lost now.”

Mind dwelling on the skating rink incident, Draco shrugged. “Okay.”

Harry eyed him dubiously. They walked in silence, further down the main street. Harry stopped in front of Scrivenshaft’s Quill Shop.

“Books and quills... this might be a bit too obvious. I bet half of Hermione’s trunk is packed with those already.”

Draco didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t as if his opinion really mattered. Harry knew his friends better than Draco did, anyway.

Friends who Harry wanted to buy Christmas gifts for.

Draco, ridiculously, had thought he’d become this kind of friend to Harry. Apparently, he’d been mistaken.

“Maybe Honeydukes...” Harry mused. He scratched his head with a gloved hand. “I really don’t know what to get Molly. Or Arthur. Or George.” He fell quiet. “Merlin. This is going to be the worst Christmas.”

He looked crushed. Draco gazed at him, baffled.

“You shouldn’t say that.”

“What did I expect?” Harry continued as if Draco hadn’t spoken. “There are going to be so many people missing. Buying presents seems so trivial.” 

“It’s Christmas. You’re buying presents for the people you love. That’s what people do.”

Draco couldn’t understand. Didn’t Harry see? Didn’t he see how _loved_ he was? Images of the skating rink flashed through Draco’s mind: Harry laughing happily, surrounded by his friends, Draco watching them with helpless envy as he sat alone.

Harry looked at Draco then, hurt, defiant.

“Not when half of the people I love are gone.”

“Half of the people you love are still here.”

Harry’s eyes flashed.

“I don’t know why I’m even asking you. It’s not like you understand. It’s not like you know what it’s like, do you? Mummy’s waiting for you at the Manor. Daddy’s still alive. Everyone you love, unscathed.”

Draco paled.

 _“Unscathed?_ I didn’t lose _anyone?”_ Harry took a step back, seemingly realising what he’d just said.

“It’s not the same,” he said, voice low.

“It’s not the same because we were the bad guys, weren’t we? We _deserved_ it. Is that what you’re saying?”

“No,” Harry said, mulish frown firmly in place. It still sounded like a ‘yes’ to Draco. Draco drew a breath, trying to collect himself. As much as he loved Harry, Harry needed to hear this from him.

“You lost people. _I_ lost people. We went over this already. There was a war. Everyone did shite things. People you loved died. Now, there are people who love you who are still alive, and Christmas is as good a time as any to show them you love them too. You have this... this _heart of gold,_ Harry. Use it. Buy them a chess set, buy them a new quill, buy them cooking books. Your gifts won’t bring back the dead, but they will remind the living that you’re still here for them.”

“What the fuck, Draco? Don’t talk about them like that,” Harry burst out, and Draco wondered if he’d gone too far, but he couldn’t stop now. “Don’t talk about them like that, when we’re all still mourning—”

 _“Mourning_ is one thing,” Draco snapped back, “but this isn’t mourning, this is you feeling sorry for yourself!”

“Merlin!” Harry threw his hands up and stepped back and away from Draco. “Fuck, you’re just as selfish and heartless as you’ve ever been, aren’t you?”

Draco stared at him, icy dread filling his chest.

_Heartless._

“Is that what you think of me?” he asked, steadily, quietly.

_That’s what he was, wasn’t it?_

“I do now,” Harry said, hands balled into fists. A furious frown twisted the lightning scar on his forehead.

“Then I’d better go,” Draco said.

Harry didn’t stop him when he turned on his heels and stalked away.


	13. A Bargain Won

**_Sunday, 13 December 1998_ **

On Sunday mornings, Draco woke up at least an hour before his roommates. It was understandable, after all: they were nineteen-year-old human teenagers, a species known for its heavy need of sleep, and Draco was a demon who’d already lived a hundred lives during which he had had his fill of lie-ins.

He tiptoed to the bathroom neighbouring the dorm room and locked the door behind him with a muttered  _ Colloportus.  _ He undressed completely, hanging his pyjamas on the hook near the showers. He was ready to walk into a shower cubicle when he met his own gaze in the mirror above the sinks.

He’d always been as pale as a human could be, but this was taking the cake. His skin, instead of its usual porcelain-white, had a greyish, sickly tint. His eyes looked empty and defeated, their weariness accentuated by the purple circles underneath them. 

He looked awful, there was no way around it.

All because of Harry Potter. His hands curled into shaky fists.  _ You know what? Sod him,  _ he thought bitterly. He’d let this go on for long enough. In his ill-advised infatuation, he’d lost sight of the end goal: to do evil, in this life  _ and  _ the next. To be a demon worthy of his title. 

What could Harry give him that he didn’t already have? Eternal life? Thank you, he would still be around long after Harry Potter would be gone from the surface of this earth. A place where he belonged? What was Hell for, if not for demons like Draco?

_ Atonement,  _ a little voice whispered in his head.  _ Self-improvement. _

_ Love. _

Well, it had all gone out the window now, hadn’t it? 

Fists pressed against the sink, he closed his eyes and focused. He wanted _ —needed— _ to see himself as he really was. When he opened his eyes again, his skinny, white body was bracketed by his demon wings.

He’d always liked his wings. They were large and wide, covered in jet-black feathers. They were beautiful. He could have got the shitty end of the stick and ended up with  _ bat leather _ wings like Mephisto. 

With a melancholy smile, he lifted a hand to touch his fingers to the dark feathers.

His wings were always with him, accessible by a simple trick of the mind _ —visualisation,  _ someone like Luna Lovegood might say. It was just that the human eye couldn’t perceive them. It was his only regret about living among humans and not in the Hereafter with the majority of other demons: that he couldn’t use them as often as he wished. 

He was stroking his wings thoughtfully when a sound interrupted his idle musings.

“Pssssst!”

He jumped, instinctively wrapping his wings around his naked body.

“Sweet Lucifer!” he groaned, clutching his chest where his heart would be if he had one. “Stop giving me a fright every time, Jeff!”

The black Niffler crawled out from underneath the sink.

“I’m very sorry, Draco,” Jeff grumbled indignantly, “but what’s a talking Niffler supposed to do? Jump out of your cauldron during Potions class? That might raise some suspicion, hmm?”

Draco checked that his crotch was covered before he continued the conversation. Jeff had seen enough of him the last time he’d dropped by unannounced.

“What are you doing here?” he hissed. “I was about to have a shower.”

“About to...?” the Niffler made a horribly suggestive gesture by moving his fist up and down, a gesture rendered even more obscene by his otherwise adorably chubby form. “It’s your Sunday morning tradition, if I recall.”

“It’s not—” Draco blushed furiously. “It’s not my Sunday morning anything! You were spying on me last time!”

“I certainly wasn’t!” Jeff lifted his long nose in disdain. “My interest in you is strictly limited to what you can provide me. Not my fault if your bedside table has a better assortment than Hogsmeade’s jewelry store.”

“Have you been snooping around? I told you you’d only get the Malfoy signet ring if you helped me with my question.”

“That’s why I’m here for, actually,” the Niffler smirked. “Be nice or I won’t tell you.” Draco fell quiet. “Good demon,” Jeff said. “You asked me if there was a way to avoid completing your task. I have answers for you. Gimme the ring.”

Draco stared at the little paw Jeff was holding out.

“How can I be sure that you do? Tell me first, and you’ll get the ring.”

“How can I be certain that  _ you _ will give it to me?” The Niffler narrowed his beady little eyes at him. 

“Hogwarts students can’t Apparate out of here," Draco deadpanned, "so I can't disappear if I don’t fulfil my end of the agreement. You, on the other hand, can.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Tell me first,” he repeated.

The Niffler tried to stare him down, but seeing Draco was inflexible, he quickly gave up.

“Mephisto’s right about you,” he grumbled. “You really are the worst little demon I’ve ever met.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment. Now, you were saying...?”

“There is a way out. Only one. And you’re not going to like it.” He scratched his plump little belly. “There are only two ways to kill a demon, as you know—”

“Yes,” Draco said. “Fiendfyre, and my name on the lips of my one true love. Not exactly what I would call daily occurrences.”

“Indeed,” Jeff conceded. “However, to prevent Harry Potter’s death... it is you who shall have to die.”

“What?” Draco gripped the sink. “How—how would that even work, if I’m the one supposed to kill him?”

“See, Draco, what I’ve learned from eavesdropping around bigger demons than us is that your mission is only a pretext. The Authorities want Potter gone, whether or not you’re the one to off him in the end.”

Draco felt the blood leave his face. “So Harry’s going to die, even if I bail on my task.”

“It’s not... exactly that simple.” Jeff shifted on his tiny feet. “Potter will die, unless he’s protected by someone’s sacrifice. He was saved, once, by someone who accepted they'd have to die for him. The same will have to happen now in order for him to live.” The Niffler’s eyes turned mean again. “If only,” he said in a saccharine tone, “there was someone who  _ loved _ him...”

Draco sat down on the tiled floor, his black wings wrapped around him. “Accept my own death, or watch Harry die. Is this what it’s about?”

Jeff surveyed him, an almost compassionate look on his face. “As simple as that, little demon. But  _ why _ would you care so much about Harry Potter, I wonder?”

Draco lifted his head sharply. “You promised,” he said. “Not a word to Mephisto.” He raked his fingers through his hair. The white-blond strands fell in his eyes, contrasting with the darkness of his demon wings. “I’ll figure something out, just...”

Jeff sighed. “I pity you, Draco. You’ve lived with humans for too long. You’ve forgotten all about selfishness, about ruthlessness, about self-preservation. You wish you could  _ become _ one of them, don’t you?”

Draco didn’t answer. Jeff seemed to read everything he needed to know from the anguished look on his face. He held out his paw again.

“The Malfoy ring now, if you please.”

Defeated, Draco pulled his father’s signet ring from his finger. He held it above the Niffler’s paw, just for a second.

“Thank you, Jeff.”

The Niffler huffed. “Don’t thank  _ me.  _ My motives are purely egotistical, _as they should be.”_

Draco gave a sad little smile. “Sure they are, Jeff. Here,” he said, dropping the heavy ring in Jeff’s extended paws. “Thanks for your help, no matter what you did it for.”

With a look of absolute ecstasy on his greedy little face, Jeff pressed the ring against his chest as he would a lover. “Oh!” he cried out almost orgasmically. “Finally! YES!! THANK YOU, YOU GOOD LITTLE DEMON!!!”

And he Disapparated with a crack and a puff of purple smoke, leaving Draco alone, desperate and naked on the bathroom floor.


	14. A Fight Resolved

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone who's read and commented so far (as well as screamed at me for breaking your hearts, lolol). I appreciate every one of you and reading your thoughts and reactions is the best part of my day!
> 
> Thanks for sticking with Harry and Draco through this rollercoaster of feels. I hope you enjoy today's chapter <3

**_Monday, 14 December 1998_ **

Draco cast a  _ Lumos _ and stepped out on the balcony of the Astronomy Tower, unconcerned by the snow that hadn’t let up since the afternoon. It was half past four and the horizon was dark.  _ Only seven days to the winter solstice, _ he thought.  _ The longest night of the year. _

He hadn’t been able to sleep last night. He hadn’t been able to focus on his first class, so he skipped the next ones and stayed in bed for the rest of the day, drapes drawn. 

_ Either I die, or Harry does. _ The words kept running in a loop in his mind, driving him mad with powerlessness. 

_ Either I die, or Harry does. _

He wasn’t even surprised to find his choice had been easily made. 

_ I have to find a way to die. _

He walked to the half-collapsed railing and gripped the rough stone, leaning over slightly. He had come here on instinct. Perhaps it was a mistake. This was the place where Draco’s true nature had been made concrete in Harry’s eyes: the place where he’d tried to kill a man, and failed like a coward.

He stared at the gaping railing, the emptiness of the night between the two halves of fallen stone. 

All the shared intimacies with Harry, the tentative touches, the shy smiles—all of it was nothing but the product of Draco’s imagination. He was in love, and it had played tricks with his mind. Harry wanted nothing to do with him. He hadn’t looked for Draco to apologise. He had called Draco heartless and selfish, and perhaps that’s what he was. Perhaps his demonic tendencies ran too deep to be overthrown in the course of one short life.

It would be so easy to step into the nothingness, to feel what dying would be like, even though the fall wouldn’t kill him. He’d go on with his life, then the next, for the rest of eternity.

_ But I love him.  _

_ I want to stay. _

He drew a breath and let go of the railing, stepping back into a solid, alive body.

“Oh—Sorry.”

A strong hand gripped his arm to steady him. Draco spun around to find Harry in his winter cloak and woolen gloves, wide-eyed in the pale light of his  _ Lumos. _

“Harry?”

“Sorry. I followed you. I—I wanted to talk to you.” Harry ran a gloved hand over the back of his head. “And I just realised that maybe you had come here to be alone. I apologise. I’ll go.”

Draco stopped him with a hand on his arm. 

Harry stared at him. His green eyes, abashed but hopeful, gleamed in the light of Draco’s  _ Lumos. _ Draco’s chest ached for him. 

_ Could it be—?  _

_ Could Draco have been right? _

Slowly, haltingly, a small smile spread on Harry’s lips.

“Draco...” Harry said, his eyes bright in the evening light.

And Draco knew then. He  _ knew. _ He lost the air from his lungs, the words from his mouth, the breath he was holding. He closed the distance between them, one short stride—the easiest thing in the world—and kissed him. 

Hands cupping Harry’s cheeks, lips crashing against his, he kissed him. He could not believe his own nerve; and yet Harry, after a second of stillness, opened his lips with a gasp and kissed him back, hands in Draco’s hair. It was such a simple thing, lips against lips, nose against nose, hands gripping each other and Harry’s tongue tentatively touching Draco’s bottom lip, slipping into his mouth when he opened up for Harry. Such a simple thing, and yet it had been too momentous a step to take before, every time Draco had thought about it, every time he’d thought he’d die without having tasted the inside of Harry’s mouth. He moaned against Harry’s lips. It was so natural and instinctive, letting himself melt against Harry’s body, feeling himself enclosed in the circle of his arms, feeling Harry’s body become pliant against his and the kiss deepening in a rush of tongues and lips and hands.

It was everything Draco had never dared dream of, everything that had always been held just slightly out of his reach, finally becoming real. Harry gripped his back as if willing Draco to come closer, impossible as it was, and Draco held Harry’s face closer, Harry’s breath hot against his cheek, his beautiful face, his perpetually fascinating green eyes, his warm smile, forever carved in Draco’s memory.

They broke for air, forehead against forehead, looking into each other’s eyes. Harry let out a little laugh.

“Was that okay?” Draco murmured, stroking his thumb across Harry’s cheekbone.

He had just kissed him.

He had just kissed someone he loved.

Never, in his hundred lives, would he have dared imagine someone he loved kissing him back.

“Yeah,” Harry chuckled. “Yeah, Draco, that was okay.” He pressed his lips to Draco’s again, soft and wet from their first kiss, and desire surged through Draco like wings rustling in a storm. His body alight, he plunged into the kiss, shamelessly moaning when Harry grabbed his head to tilt it to the side and caressed his tongue with his, hot and urgent. They were both wearing their school robes and heavy winter cloaks and yet Draco felt every contact as if Harry was touching his naked skin. He didn’t realise how hard he was until Harry backed him up against the cold stone wall and pressed himself against him. Draco’s breath hitched at the mind-blowing feeling of Harry’s erection against his thigh, the realisation suddenly making everything staggeringly real. He gasped and pulled back, breathing hard and staring at Harry with wide eyes. Harry’s lips chased his for a second, before he steadied himself with his hand on the wall.

“Are you sure...?”

“Draco,” Harry’s eyes were painfully sincere. He was grinning, irresistibly bright. “How could you think I'm not sure? I mean, thank you. So much. For initiating this. And asking me. But... I want you. I’ve wanted you for so long...”

“You said I was heartless,” Draco said, regretting his words instantly as they abruptly changed the atmosphere.  _ Shut it, you fool,  _ a gravelly voice that sounded like Jeff echoed in his mind.  _ Who cares what Harry thinks of you, as long as he keeps kissing you? _

I  _ care, _ Draco thought.  _ I need to hear this. _

Abashed, Harry lowered his head. “I wanted to talk to you. You weren’t in class all day, I didn’t see you at lunch... so I looked you up.”

“You looked me up?” Draco asked, brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

There was no mistaking it, even in the pale light: Harry blushed. “I have a map... I’ll show you some day.”

“Please do,” Draco said, more interested in the fact that Harry saw enough of a future in them to make plans than in whatever means Harry used to track him down. He prompted: “You wanted to talk to me?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, still not quite meeting his eyes. “On Saturday, when we fought... You didn’t have to help me find presents for my friends. I guess I wanted...” He rubbed his jaw, looking for his next words. “I wish you would all get along, that you’d all be friends. I know it’s stupid and that these things can take time, but... they’re important to me and...  _ you’re _ important to me.”

“ _ I’m _ ... important to you?”

Harry laughed softly. He touched the tip of his nose to Draco’s. “Yes, you incredibly thick prat. You are. I’m just so used to being antagonistic with you, you know? It’s so much easier to take everything the wrong way with you. We’ve been arch-enemies for so long.” At that, he rolled his eyes. “Arch-enemies. What were we thinking? We were just kids. Didn’t we have better things to do? Bigger baddies to worry about?”

“It was because of the tension,” Draco said faintly. “The, er... punch-you-because-I-can’t-kiss-you tension.” 

Harry looked up at him with a smile that burned with its warmth.

“There’s always been something, hasn’t there? Between you and me.” His expression turned melancholy. “You were right. I was just feeling sorry for myself and I should have listened to you. I was a complete arse to you, and I’m sorry.” Draco could see Harry’s breaths, white puffs in the cold winter air. He could see the gold flakes in his green eyes. 

“I wished you could see how many people care about you,” Draco tried to explain. The truth stumbled out of him, unbidden. “What I feel for you... You scare me shitless, Harry.”

Harry laughed, sounding utterly charmed. “So do you, Draco. But you’re worth being brave for.”

Draco pulled him closer and kissed him, a chaste, closed-lip kiss that felt like magic, like sealing their fate. When he pulled back, lips tingling, Harry was still here.

Harry leaned in, so close Draco could feel his warmth. 

“You said I have a heart of gold,” he murmured. He hesitated a fraction of a second, then lifted his hand and lay it on Draco’s chest. “I called you heartless, and I’m sorry. I couldn’t be farther from the truth.” He took a breath, and Draco waited, caught in Harry’s gaze, unable to speak or move. “I may have a heart of gold,” Harry said, “but you have a heart of silver. It may take longer to warm up, but it’s just as precious.” And, smiling, he closed the gap that remained between their bodies. “It’s just as  _ perfect.” _


	15. A Path Festooned With Fairy Lights

**_Tuesday, 15 December 1998_ **

Pansy found him in the Magical Careers section of the Library. He was so lost in thought he didn't hear her coming.

“What are you humming?” she said, and he jumped. Clutching the nearest shelf to catch his breath, he groaned.

“You people have got to stop giving me frights!”

 _“People?_ Who else is giving you frights?”

“No one,” Draco pretended to be absorbed in his search. There had to be a magical solution to his quest for the perfect career—or Harry’s. Harry, at least, had a future career to plan for. He eyed Pansy, who was tapping her foot as though she expected an answer. “What?” he snapped.

“I asked you what you were humming just now.”

“I wasn’t humming.”

“Yes, you were. It sounded Muggle. It sounded like this,” she said, and started singing just loud enough for Draco to shush her in embarrassment: _“Love me! Love me! Say that you love me—”_

“Oh, Merlin, will you shut up!” He put his hand over her mouth, muffling her cackle. Above his palm, her eyes sparkled with glee. He narrowed his eyes at her. “Pansy. How much do you know?”

She pulled his hand away. _“You_ didn't come to dinner last night. Do you know who else didn't come down for dinner?” She paused dramatically. “Potter, that's who. And I heard Weasley mention to Granger that he went to bed _ridiculously_ late, too. Do you know who else went to bed ridiculously late?”

Draco dropped his hand. “It's... not what you think.”

“No? It's pure coincidence that you and Potter went missing for the same length of time yesterday, and that I found you in the Library muttering Muggle love songs today?”

Draco glared. “Who said I wanted to talk about it?”

“Oh, Draco. Darling. If something really happened with Potter... you must be over the moon. You’ve wished for it for long enough.”

Everything Pansy had just said was true. Draco could not believe he had been so obvious, all this time. She took his arm and squeezed.

“Draco. I’ve known you since we were seven. If you think I wouldn’t have noticed, you really underrate me.”

“If you think I haven’t noticed _your_ antics, you underrate me too,” Draco replied. “You and Longbottom? Really? How long has _that_ been going on?”

“Neville and I are brilliant together, thank you very much. What’s that got to do with anything?”

“I never thought he was your type.”

“He’s incredibly nice and clever and he knows what he wants in life. _Of course_ he’s my type.”

“He’s also a war hero, and you’re a Slytherin pariah. You do the maths.”

She stepped back, a hurt look on her face. “I refuse to apologise for actually having done the maths on the night of the Battle! Give away one person, save hundreds. I’m not saying it was an easy conversation, but Neville understands. And so does Harry, incidentally. I’m not the only _Slytherin pariah_ pining after a war hero around here.” She crossed her arms and stared expectantly. “Spill it, Draco.”

“We just kissed,” Draco admitted in the silence between the deserted row of bookshelves. “It was just a kiss. Well. _Several_ kisses,” he amended, blushing. “I don’t know what that makes us.”

Harry had kissed him again and again last night, pressing Draco against the wall and his body against his. It was all Draco could do not to let go and rut against the thigh Harry had pressed between his legs, unnoticed at first in the scramble of lips and hands and hot breaths. It was the best thing Draco had experienced in a hundred lives—the burning desire for another human, enthusiastically reciprocated; Harry everywhere, his hands roaming Draco’s body, his lips kissing his mouth, his jaw, his neck, exhaling hot little breaths into his ear. Draco wanted to live in this moment, and he wanted so much more, things he didn’t know about, things he couldn’t name.

He was too innocent for his own demonic good.

And then Harry had said his name against his neck, half-moan and half-whisper.

“Draco...”

Draco had frozen in his embrace. _His name. On the lips of his one true love._

He had expected to burst into flames. To explode. To evaporate in a mist of purple smoke. To die, whatever form death could take for a demon.

Instead, nothing had happened.

Harry had just smiled at him, one hand cupping his cheek. And Draco had understood.

_One-sided love doesn’t count._

_Your one true love must reciprocate the feeling._

Suddenly, the Warming charms they had cast all over the balcony hadn’t been enough. The cold wind of December had pierced their protective bubble, the snow had resumed its fall, and Draco had shivered in his cloak.

“Shall we go?” He tried to fake a cheerful tone. “It’s cold... it’s getting late.”

Harry had looked at him with slightly glazed eyes. “Yeah. Let’s go back downstairs.” He had taken Draco’s hand and they’d walked down to the Eighth Year Common Room, stopping every so often to kiss around corners or in dark alcoves. In front of their Common Room door, Harry had kissed him one last time, soft and sweet, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he’d murmured, nipping at Draco’s neck. Draco had pushed into the touch, biting back a whimper.

“Yes.”

Harry had let go of him with a satisfied little smile.

“G’night, Draco,” he’d said, before disappearing behind the door.

Draco had stayed there for long, lonely minutes after. He had contemplated the fact that he was only Harry Potter’s boyfriend, while Harry Potter was the only love of his many lives.

Pansy’s question startled him from his thoughts.

“Are you boyfriends?” she asked, keeping her voice blessedly down. “You say you don’t know what kissing all night makes you, but it seems rather clear to me, sweetheart.”

“Boyfriends would be the most accurate term, yes,” Draco conceded. The word still stung, and he chastised himself. _Boyfriends_ was so much more than he had ever hoped to be with Harry. This in itself was nothing short of a miracle. Asking for more was the most ungrateful Draco had ever been.

Pansy, however, took the news with much more excitement.

“Draco!” she squealed. Draco put his hand over her mouth again. She shook out of his grip. “I can’t believe it! You have a boyfriend! Oh,” she wrung her hands enthusiastically, “and it’s Potter! You've lusted after him for _years!”_

“I did not lust after him!” Draco protested, although it was exactly what he’d done.

“Come on,” Pansy pulled him by the arm. “Let’s go out. I want to hear every little detail!”

“Out? You’re bloody mad. It’s freezing.”

“It’s beautiful. It’s snowy and impeccable. We’re in the middle of Scotland and it’s nearly Christmas. Of course it’s freezing. We’ll cast Warming charms. _Let’s go.”_

They walked down the stairs, out the main door and into the snow covered grounds. Draco glanced at the Forbidden Forest, standing as dark and eerily still as it always did. He followed Pansy’s lead down the path to the lake. Someone—Hagrid, perhaps—had cleared it of snow.

It seemed as though the Hogwarts staff had decided that the Christmas decor had to be truly over the top this year, as if to make up for the remainder of destruction still strewn across the castle and grounds. The gutted walls, the torn paintings and tapestries, the fallen trees and impact holes; stark reminders of the war remained everywhere one looked. Yet the trees were festooned with gold, the fairy lights glittered along the path, Hogwarts was all decked in resplendent colours. It all brought winter holidays to mind. Outside, everything was covered in a thick layer of fresh, crisp snow and scattered with illuminated trees. The landscape didn’t look like the battle scene it had been, only half a year ago. It looked like the Hogwarts Draco had always known and loved, mere days away from Christmas.

For everyone else, it was a time of peaceful celebration. For Draco, it was a time of turmoil like he’d never felt.

Pansy held his arm, her fingernails polished with dark green digging into his sleeve. She buried her face into her scarf and Draco cast a Warming charm over them.

“Thank you, darling,” Pansy murmured, her black eyes briefly meeting Draco's. “You were right. It is cold.”

Draco snorted. “I’m always right.”

She laughed. “You wish.”

He'd never had a best friend before, not in any of his many lives. He and Greg and Vince had been companions thrown together by the whim of higher-ranking demons, turned faithful friends by sheer force of habit. Pansy, however, was more of an accident. With her awe-inspiring persistence, her almost-demonic bitchiness and her fierce loyalty, she had wormed her way into Draco’s affection. He wished he could take her with him in his next life, if that would ever happen.

Her, and so many others in this life.

 _Harry,_ the thought hit him again, unbidden.

 _Don't get attached,_ Mephistopheles had warned, over and over, a hundred times.

They reached the Great Lake. Dark waves crested with white foam rolled at the surface. The Lake had never looked like a lake to Draco. It looked like a small ocean, downsized to fit in the Hogwarts grounds. It scared him a bit, the way the ocean always did. He remembered the chill he’d felt during the Triwizard Tournament, when Harry had dived into the muddy waters in Fourth Year—

“I love him,” he confessed quietly, his breath escaping him in a white cloud. “It’s amazing. It’s terrifying. I think... I think he likes me. But he doesn’t _love_ me.”

Pansy was silent beside him. Her hand slid along his arm. She took his cold hand in hers.

“You don’t know that, darling. You’ve been there for years. He’s probably not felt like this for as long as you have. Give him time.” _But I don’t have time,_ Draco wanted to scream. He pressed his lips together. “Still... you should tell him, some day,” she murmured. “He might be waiting for you to.”

They watched the waves crash on the shore. The waters were dark and green.

Draco didn't know what to do. His chest ached, a strangely beautiful kind of pain. It was worth it, to feel this, to experience the full range of human emotions, wasn’t it? He squeezed her hand in his.

“Thank you, Pans,” he whispered.

She huddled closer, even though Draco’s Warming charm still held.

“Baby, you’re a catch. He would be mad not to see that. And if he doesn’t...” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her smile. “It will be our pleasure to kick his arse until he does; Greg, Blaise, Theo and me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** The song Draco and Pansy are singing is **_Lovefool_** by The Cardigans.


	16. A Cup Of Hot Chocolate

**_Wednesday, 16 December 1998_ **

“Since we’re supposed to help each other decide what our ideal jobs would be, may I ask you a question?”

“Of course,” Harry said, looking up as Draco slid in the seat next to him. The atmosphere in Slughorn’s classroom was already stuffy and overheated. The air smelled of candied fruit and hot chocolate. It wasn’t a bad smell in itself—it’s just that it fit Madam Puddifoot’s tea parlor better than it did a Potions classroom. Draco located the source of the smell after one quick scan of the room: small cups of steaming hot chocolate, two on each table, were waiting for them. Inside, marshmallows charmed to look like snowmen floated on the dark liquid. All that was missing to turn the room into a Hufflepuff winter wonderland was merry carols chiming in the background. The empty portrait on the wall behind Slughorn’s desk was proof enough: Severus Snape disapproved so much he refused to visit his own portrait, likely preferring to dwell in the one hanging in McGonagall’s office.

“You don’t have to look so disparaging,” Harry laughed softly next to him. “He has his quirks. Doesn’t mean he’s a bad teacher.”

“I never said he was,” Draco sniffed.

“You should have seen your face.”

There was an excited sparkle in Harry’s eyes. It was only offset by his smile, guarded and almost shy. Draco was certain his own expression mirrored Harry’s. With their schedules and the fact that Harry seemed to spend every free minute surrounded by his friends, it was their first interaction since their kiss—their many, many passionate, life-altering, unforgettable kisses. Part of Draco’s mind was certain kissing Harry meant something real; the other part was convinced it would all blow up in his face the moment he sought confirmation with Harry.

Passing their table, other Eighth Years shot inquisitive glances at them. It was common knowledge that Harry and Draco had left their old enmity behind when the school year had started, but it was another thing to see them sitting together in class. In the distance, Slughorn announced the lesson plan of the day. _Potions Ingredient Selection and Purchase_ , if Draco remembered correctly. He’d sat in these lessons so many times, in so many of his past lives, the curriculum was seared in his brain.

“I couldn’t get a hold of you yesterday,” Draco breathed, not even pretending to pay attention to anything else but Harry.

“Did you want to see me?” Harry asked, his smile more confident. Flirtatious.

“Yes,” Draco tried. Two could play the flirting game. “I wanted to see you, maybe take you for a walk up to the Astronomy Tower again...” He searched frantically for the next bit, face heating. “...maybe, er, pick up things where we left them?”

Hand on his mouth, Harry stifled a laugh. “If I’d known you were this bad at flirting, I would have done this instead of challenging you with duels and fights all these years.”

“Sod off, Potter,” Draco elbowed him in the side but grinned. Aside from him making a fool of himself, things were going well. Harry seemed genuinely happy to be in his company. “You didn’t tell me what you thought of my suggestion.”

“I like it,” Harry told him in the same playful tone. “I hoped to see you, too.” His voice dropped. “I missed you,” he added, cheeks pinking attractively.

Lucifer, Draco was so gone for him.

He cleared his throat.

“I, er, wanted to ask you something.”

“Yeah, sorry.”

“It’s alright.” Draco unrolled his scroll of parchment, nudging Harry to do the same. Slughorn had begun his rounds around the classroom. He dictated today’s lesson, still blissfully oblivious of Draco and Harry’s whispered conversation. “I was wondering why you were taking Advanced Professional Potions this year if it wasn’t part of your career plan.”

“How do you know it’s not?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Harry, one thing I’ve noticed over the years, besides your disastrous hairstyle, is how utterly useless you are at Potions. It’s almost as though you’re _forcing yourself_ to take this class. At least someone like Longbottom seems to see the benefit of taking Potions, even though he’s as hopeless at it as you are. He’s going to need his Potions NEWT to apply for his Herbology Mastership. You, on the other hand..."

In front of them, Hermione Granger turned and scowled.

“Will you please keep it down?” She hissed. “I missed Slughorn’s last word. Was it moon _stone_ or moon _fly?”_

“Moon _fly,"_ Draco told her. Next to him, Harry was silently shaking with repressed laughter. Ignoring Draco's annoyed look, he gestured towards his parchment and quill and started writing.

When he slid the piece of parchment in front of Draco, Draco squinted to decipher Harry's messy scrawl. He was answering Draco's question.

 _I wanted to be an Auror,_ it said.

 _Wanted?_ Draco asked and passed the parchment back to Harry.

_When I was in Fifth Year. I haven't given much thought about it since then. I'm not sure that's what I want anymore._

_Not sure, or_ certain?

_Merlin, Draco, you never let anything fly past you, do you?_

_No. That's why McGonagall paired us together, I suppose. My attention to detail, and your gross desire to save everything and everyone._

_Who said I wanted to save_ you? Again with the playful tone.

_Answer the damned question, Potter._

_Alright. I'm_ almost _sure I don't want to be an Auror. It sounded brill when I was fifteen. Now all I can picture is paperwork and bureaucracy._

_So you do know words longer than two syllables._

Harry snorted.

_Fuck you, Malfoy. I'm not telling you another thing._

_It feels unnatural not to mock you anymore. I've done it for years._

_Tell you what. You make fun of me, and I make fun of you. We could have this kind of relationship. In fact—_

He stopped writing, scratched the back of his neck. With one glance at Draco, he continued.

_—I'd like that very much. We could be boyfriends. Alright with you?_

Blood rushing in his ears, Draco nodded. _Boyfriends is a start,_ he thought, remembering the previous day’s walk by the lake with Pansy. After a beat, Harry resumed his scribble.

_It's not just the paperwork and bureaucracy. I don't think I want the burden of having to save people anymore._

He paused to look at Draco, and added: _Do you think I'm selfish?_

_Self-preservation is not selfish._

At that, Slughorn walked past their table, his booming voice startling them.

“... for the best supply of Valkyrie hair, the meticulous witch or wizard should travel to the forests of Bavaria, where quality raw material can be found...”

They hastily bent their heads over their parchments, pretending to take notes. This earned them a stern look from Granger.

 _What about you?_ When Slughorn was out of their immediate line of vision, Harry wrote on the corner of Draco's parchment. The gesture spoke of an instinctive intimacy that made Draco yearn for more. _Why are you taking this class?_

_Potions Master could have been one of my options._

Could _have been?_ It was Harry's turn to ask difficult questions. Draco couldn't very well tell him that any career choice he made was doomed to be moot, since he would restart another new life on his next birthday.

 _Yes,_ he wrote instead. _I kind of burned this option and many other ones. Being on the dark side of the war wasn't the best move for my future, was it?_

Instead of replying right away, Harry took the cup of hot chocolate Slughorn had left for each of his students and took a sip, the warm liquid fogging his glasses. When he set it on the table again, he licked the milk foam lingering on his upper lip. Draco watched him, entranced, frozen, waiting.

Then Harry picked his quill again.

 _No, it wasn’t._ He held the tip of the quill just above the parchment, as though hesitating to write the next line. _I still don’t know what made you change your mind. Maybe you’ll tell me some day._ He looked at Draco. _I’m just glad you did._

When Slughorn finally dismissed the class, Draco had no choice but to pull Harry into a dark corner nearby, press him against the wall and kiss him. Harry tasted of hot chocolate, candied orange and Christmas, and his eyelashes tickled Draco’s cheek when he smiled against his lips.


	17. A Steamed-up Mirror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who read, commented and left kudos so far ❤️ Your words of encouragement and your enthusiastic speculations never fail to put a smile on my face!
> 
> Today's chapter is the one (of _—ahem—_ several more...) that earned this fic its Explicit rating. Hope you're as excited as I am!

**_Thursday, 17 December 1998_ **

It was snowing again today, which meant visibility on the Quidditch pitch was close to zero. On the other hand, the falling snow and patches of fog muffled the surrounding sounds, giving Draco the comfortably numb feeling of floating on cotton.

He tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear and tried to focus. Earlier, Blaise had pulled him by the arm a second before he took off on his broom and had threatened to hex a boot right up Draco’s arse if he let Potter distract him again during this game.  _ A drawback of having so many Slytherin friends _ , Draco thought with a sigh. 

In the distance, he could see the three hoops of the goal posts peeking out of a patch of fog, Weasley’s red and orange form flashing in and out of the fog, the red Quaffle passing from him to Blaise, occasionally intercepted by Greg or Thomas. It was a good game, as far as Draco could tell: lots of action, playful name-calling, and the occasional snowball flying his direction—“Eyes on the Snitch, Malfoy!” Blaise would remind him.

Harry passed him by, his snowflake-dotted black hair and slightly smudged glasses sending a pang of attraction to Draco's gut, so strong it nearly unbalanced him.

“Any luck?” Harry asked. He was floating several feet away, yet the muffled atmosphere carried his voice as intimately as if he had whispered in Draco's ear.

“In this weather? No. You?”

“We're still playing, aren't we? If I'd seen the little golden bastard, we wouldn't be freezing our bollocks off here, Malfoy.”

“What makes you think whether or not we're still playing is up to you?” Draco challenged playfully.

Harry pretended to think. “Let's see... recent experience? Every statistic from this year and all the years we played against each other?” Draco gave him a hard look which only made Harry laugh. “You know I'm right.”

With a sharp incline of the handle, Draco leveled his broom with Harry's.

“That's just bad math, Potter,” he said. “You're forgetting about new parametres, as always.”

“Which are?”

“It's obvious, isn't it?” Draco ran his fingers through his hair, snowflakes melting underneath his palm and soaking the golden strands. Harry followed the movement greedily, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Draco smirked. “I can distract you with a flick of my wrist.”

At that exact moment, a tiny ball of winged, glittering gold zoomed through the air between them. Harry blinked. Before he had time to do anything else, Draco dove after it. The dive was silent, his eyes on the Snitch, his broom cutting through patches of light fog and quiet, falling snow. As though in slow motion, he held out his hand, fingers closing around his prize, and all sound rushed back in at once: Harry's groan immediately followed by his delighted laughter; the yells and cheers of their teammates above them.

Beaming, the Snitch firmly caught in his hand, Draco steered his broom to go meet them. Next to him, Harry flew in silence. There was a hot, dark glint in his eyes, and Draco’s nerves thrilled with muted anticipation.

***

Draco stepped out of the shower, a white towel wrapped around his hips, shaking his dark wings dry behind him. The others had already gone back to the castle after a quick shower, leaving him alone in the Quidditch bathroom.

He sighed and contemplated his reflection in the steamed-up mirror.

He'd had such a good day. Such a joyful,  _ human _ day. He'd sat next to his friends in class; he'd sat next to Harry at lunch, and under the table Harry had lay his hand on his knee, a gesture both sweet and proprietary. He’d kissed Harry quick before the others joined them on the Quidditch pitch. He'd even caught the Snitch after successfully leaving his boyfriend dry-mouthed and flustered.

_ I don't want to leave. _

The choice he had to make echoed in his head.  _ Either Harry dies, or I do. _ Draco leaned over the sink, wiping the mirror clear with his hand. His face was pink-cheeked and adorned with happiness. He looked utterly angelic framed by his beautiful, gleaming demon wings. He was at a loss what to do. He had so little time left to save Harry. If Draco didn’t figure something out, he’d come back for his next life and Harry would be left unprotected and unaware of the mortal danger he was in. Draco would have to die—die for good, once and for all—for the protective spell to be cast.  _ There are only two ways to kill a demon, _ his mind was chanting the age old refrain,  _ Fiendfyre and your name on the lips of your one true love.  _ Fiendfyre was out of the question: even if he cast the curse on himself, there was no way of stopping the fire once Draco was dead. Who knew how many collateral victims there could be?

As for his name on Harry’s lips... well,  _ ‘Draco’ _ had fallen from Harry’s mouth several times a day recently, the sound of his name fonder and sweeter than anything Draco had ever heard. Yet nothing had happened. Which could only mean one thing: Harry was Draco’s one true love, but Draco wasn’t Harry’s.

He curled his hands into fists, resting them against the tiled sink, his dark wings bristling, open and spread out behind him.  _ It’s fine, _ he told himself.  _ An imbalance in feelings doesn’t negate how you feel. What you need to figure out is how to save him. And then even if you’re gone forever... love was still worth experiencing. Wasn't it? _

“I always knew you were keen on dirty tactics, but that was a whole new level of inexcusable,” Harry’s voice came from behind him. 

Startled, Draco whirled around to find Harry leaning against the bathroom door jamb, the same dark spark in his green eyes as had been there at the end of the game. He was in his Muggle jeans and jumper, his hair a mess, still half wet from his shower. Draco’s mouth turned dry. Almost naked, alone in the bathroom, his demon wings on display, the faded Dark Mark still stark against the porcelain paleness of his skin, Harry’s hot gaze roaming his body... it felt  _ dangerous _ . He shut the part of his mind that contained his wings, just to be safe. Harry was a terrible Legilimens, but who knew what he could catch sight of when Draco felt as exposed as an open book?

“I thought you had gone back to the castle,” he said.

Harry’s smirk widened when he saw Draco swallow tightly. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you looked up there?” Harry stepped forward, moving into Draco’s space. He had to lift his head slightly to look Draco in the eyes. Despite their height difference, the power had changed sides since their game on the Quidditch pitch, and it was all in Harry’s hands now. “It’s impossible to be so confident and not just  _ know _ you’re almost even hotter when you’re flying than when you’re not.”

“Of course I knew, Potter,” Draco said, his smug tone canceled out by the slight quiver in his voice. “And it worked, didn’t it?”

“You won that round, Malfoy,” Harry said. “Wait until you see how the whole game ends.”

He closed the distance between them in two short strides, took Draco’s face in his hands and crashed their lips together. Draco’s hands flew to grip Harry’s arms; he tilted his head to let Harry deepen the kiss and press his body against his. It was a kiss unlike the ones they had shared since their first night at the top of the Astronomy Tower. It was hungry, pushy—hot wet tongues, desperate hands. They both moaned shamelessly as Harry backed them up against the sink and let go of Draco’s mouth, latching his lips and teeth on the side of his neck instead.

“Fuck,” Draco whimpered, the curse sounding foreign in his mouth. “Yes, Harry.”

“This was all I could think about on the pitch,” Harry growled into his neck. “You looked so fucking hot in your Quidditch gear...”

“And now?” Draco asked, breathless. He could feel his erection already straining against the soft cloth of his towel, could feel Harry’s answering hardness pressing against his thigh. “And now, how hot am I, Harry?”

“So hot I can barely stand it,” Harry whispered, voice husky. His lips trailed up Draco’s neck, kissing lightly along his jaw, his cheek, closing around the lobe of his ear. “I want you so much.”

Draco let his hands slide down Harry’s shoulders, his back, dipping below his jumper, reveling in the feel of his hot, soft skin under his palms. They came to rest on the round swell of Harry’s arse. Instinctively, he squeezed, pulling Harry impossibly closer. Head swimming, emboldened by his own daring, he kissed Harry hard, licking into his mouth, letting himself feel it all, the sweet ache in his chest, the rapid rise and fall of his breath, the urge to rut against Harry’s hip, the soft moans passing from Harry’s open mouth to his. 

“I’ve wanted you,” Harry breathed when they broke for air, “since Sixth Year, but I never thought I’d ever have you—”

Hands on Harry’s hips, Draco pulled away slightly, gaping at him.  _ “What?” _

Harry’s eyes were almost black behind his glasses. He smiled, looking every bit as brilliant and deliciously disheveled as he did in Draco’s daydreams.

“I stalked you everywhere. I told myself that it was because you were up to something, that I was the only one who suspected anything...” He laughed softly, bringing his hand to Draco’s chest. “Bit obvious, wasn’t I?”

“I  _ was  _ up to something,” Draco scowled. He was still panting from their kiss a moment ago. “I wish you had stopped me.”

Harry’s fingers trailed the faint scars marring Draco’s chest. “When I found you in that bathroom... I had that lightning moment of understanding. We’d put so much distance between us over the years, I... I’d always thought of you as unattainable. Out of my reach, in a way. And suddenly... Suddenly my intense dislike of you took another meaning. I was seeing you so  _ clearly. _ The  _ reality _ of you. Draco Malfoy. Human after all.” Draco opened his mouth to protest, but Harry cut him off with his fingers curling against his chest. “I reacted in the worst of ways, Draco. I could have killed you.”

“No, you couldn’t have,” Draco told him. How could he make Harry see the truth?  _ Sectumsempra cannot kill a demon. _ “You could never have killed me, Harry.”

He kissed him again, sliding a knuckle under Harry’s chin to lift it up. Harry kissed him back, furious, eager, and Draco rocked his hips into him, letting him feel how hard Harry made him, how much he wanted him, how completely he’d forgiven him.

“Draco...” Harry mumbled against his lips.

“Don’t talk, just...” Draco said, fingers tangled in Harry’s hair. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” he whispered, mindless with desire, mindless with the crushing realisation of that particular truth.

Harry dove into the kiss, catching Draco’s bottom lip between his teeth, pulling lightly. His hips drove forward in tiny thrusts, the hard length of his cock inside his jeans rubbing against Draco’s erection.

“Turn around,” Harry said, the short words delivered like an order. Nerves thrilling, Draco obeyed, twisting around in Harry’s arms, bracing one hand on the sink and the other on the mirror. With the motion, his towel dropped. Harry’s hand was on the hot skin of his bare arse in a second. His fully-clothed body pressed against Draco’s back, his chin on Draco’s shoulder, Harry caught his eyes in the mirror and held. Draco trembled slightly.

With a slow, lascivious smile, Harry murmured: “We look good together, don’t we?”

They did, Draco had to admit. Seeing himself naked in the mirror with Harry wrapped around him was shaking his world down to its very foundations.

“I fantasized about this,” Draco confessed, hoping to sound enticing and not just flabbergasted. “Have you... fantasized about me?” 

“Merlin, yeah.”

“Did you touch yourself, thinking about me?” He asked again, feeling bolder. Harry’s eyes darkened in the mirror, and Draco thought with some satisfaction that he hadn’t lost his touch when it came to teasing him.

The teasing just took a different form now.

“Fuck yeah,” Harry exhaled. His hand found Draco’s on the sink, covering it, lacing their fingers together. His other arm came around Draco’s chest and slowly, achingly, he started rubbing his erection against Draco’s arse, the ridge of his denim-clad cock sliding between his cheeks. Draco felt himself push back against it, head dropping forward with a moan so wanton he didn’t immediately realise it was coming from him. “I wanked myself raw every night thinking about you, Draco,” Harry murmured against the back of his neck, sweat already breaking at his brow. “Thinking of touching you, thinking of my hands on your arse, on your cock—”

Draco almost blacked out from desire, his cock spurting a stream of precome against the side of the sink.

“Yes,” he panted, “Touch me, Harry. I want your hands on me, I want to feel—”

He didn’t finish his sentence. Tentatively, almost shyly, Harry’s fingers had slipped down his chest, his stomach, into the curls of golden fuzz below his navel, and had closed around his aching cock. In a slow, exploring motion, his eyes never leaving Draco’s in the mirror, Harry gave it a pump, fingers trailing across the crown, lingering on the dripping slit before closing around Draco’s prick again. Horribly embarrassed by how much he wanted this and equally mesmerised, Draco watched himself and Harry in the mirror, watched Harry’s expressive face as he explored Draco, as he touched him where Draco had never been touched, had never dreamed he’d be touched.

Instinctively, he rocked his hips, driving his cock into Harry’s fist. Short, whiny breaths fell from his mouth. In the mirror, he could see how pink his face already was. Harry rubbed his forehead against Draco’s temple, his black curls sticking to his sweaty skin. 

“You look so incredible,” Harry said, “I want—I want to make you feel so good.”

“Yes,” Draco pushed back against Harry’s erection, his eyes rolling back. “Keep doing this,  _ please _ —”

With a groan, Harry thrust harder against his arse, his movements erratic and jerky. A few fumbling seconds, and he seemed to find a rhythm, his fist stroking Draco’s cock in time with the trusts of his hips. Draco’s fingers curled on the misty glass of the mirror, his eyes on Harry’s, relishing the mind-blowing sensation of Harry all against him, all around him, Harry everywhere. His breaths in his ear, his hair tangling with Draco’s, his fingers enclosing his leaking cock, the wonderful friction against the cleft of his arse. He lost track of time, until Harry closed his teeth around his earlobe, brow furrowed.

“I’m close,” he said, voice strained. 

“Me too,” Draco rasped. “Make me come, Harry, make me come—”

Harry started wanking Draco faster, twisting his wrist on the way up, rutting against him. He dropped his mouth to Draco’s shoulder with a groan so uninhibited that Draco felt it reverberate through him, and then he was coming. He was coming so much, his cock jerking in Harry’s hand, his come splattering the tiled side of the sink, dripping on Harry’s fist, pleasure coursing through him like a tide, a breathless cry stuck in his throat.

“Fuck, Draco, I—” Harry whimpered, and he stilled against Draco’s arse, his arm around Draco’s chest holding him like a vice, his hips shuddering as he came. In the mirror, Draco drank in the sight of Harry’s face, eyes screwed shut and mouth slack, overcome with pleasure. His cock gave one last, hopeful twitch in Harry’s hand and he lay his head back on Harry’s shoulder, melting in Harry’s embrace.

Eventually, Harry lifted his eyes to meet Draco’s sated gaze in the mirror. He exhaled a short laugh against Draco’s shoulder.

“That was...”

“Unexpected?”

“Yeah.” He nuzzled the short hairs at the back of Draco’s neck. Draco brought his hand to Harry’s cheek and they rocked, slowly, bodies relaxed and sated, their reflections pink-cheeked in the mirror.

“Because you only came here to check on me, see why I wasn’t following the rest of you, right?” Draco teased him with a soft nudge of his head. 

“Of course,” Harry smiled. “Then again, I didn’t expect to find you looking gloriously naked and utterly edible.”

“I wasn’t  _ naked,” _ Draco pretended offense.

“A towel doesn’t count. And you should have spelled it tighter around your hips if dropping it in the middle of a kiss was such a problem.”

Draco turned his head to kiss his lips. “Shut up. You know it wasn’t.”

Harry gazed at him. He bit his lip, his slightly crooked canine sinking into the soft flesh. “Draco,” he murmured. “I’ve never done this before.”

Holding his breath, Draco asked as delicately as he could: “Never done this specific thing we did, or...”

“Anything,” Harry said. His eyes were the most beautiful thing Draco had seen in a hundred lives. “I’ve done things alone,” he clarified, ears going pink, “but you’re the first one who I’ve...”

“Me, too,” Draco whispered. “You’re the first, Harry.” He stroked Harry’s cheek. “You’re my first.”

Harry kissed him, lips full and soft and tender. It felt like love, and Draco let it wash through him, a hopeful kind of pain more exquisite than their first shared orgasm.

Then Harry took half a step back, looked down at his crotch and grimaced slightly. “It’s getting... sticky.”

Draco let out a shaky laugh. “I bet it is.”

Harry shot him a look, rinsing his hand under the tap and adjusting his jeans. He pointed his wand at the flies and cast a muttered  _ Scourgify.  _ “Let’s go back? Before the others send out a search party?”

Draco shuddered theatrically. “We wouldn’t want that. Let me grab my clothes.”

“Can I watch?” Harry followed him out of the bathroom and into the locker room, eyes trained on Draco’s arse. It was probably pink from the friction of Harry’s jeans. Draco felt too shagged out and smug to care. 

In this moment, he didn’t care about anything but Harry.

His gaze lingered on Harry’s face, trailed down his body, taking him all in. 

His boyfriend. 

His one true love.

_ My decision is made, _ he thought.  _ Harry’s going to live. _


	18. A Niffler

**_Friday, 18 December 1998_ **

“Hello, kids,” Ginny Weasley called. Hand in hand with a pink-nosed, ski-goggle-wearing Luna Lovegood, they approached the small group huddled around the six-foot-tall snowman they had built. Ginny whistled appreciatively. “Blimey. I see you’ve been busy.”

“He looks as though he could be breathing,” Luna mused next to her, “if only it wasn’t this cold.”

“Thank you, Luna,” Hermione said. She gave Ginny a stern look. “Eighth Year classes end before lunch on Friday, Ginny. It’s not _truancy._ We’re allowed to relax.”

Most people tittered and Ron Weasley put his arm around his girlfriend’s shoulder, kissing her cheek. “No one would ever dare accuse you of bunking off, ‘Mione.”

Ginny lifted a quizzical eyebrow at Draco but didn’t comment on his presence. The presence of other former Slytherins in the snowman-building taskforce didn’t seem to bother her either. Draco had tensed when he’d seen her walk up to them, but her and Harry had only exchanged friendly smiles and ‘hello’s, so he’d soon relaxed. After the heavy snowfall of yesterday, the weather had cleared. The day was blue-skied and sunny. When Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas had suggested a walk out on the grounds after lunch, they had naturally included Draco, Greg and Blaise in the group. Pansy had followed with Neville Longbottom, and Theo had tagged along without asking permission.

“Are you done with classes, then?” Hermione asked the Seventh Year girls when the laughter had died down.

“We are,” Luna said dreamily. “We were going to go snog by the lake, under the weeping willow.”

At that, Ginny’s face went pink, although she looked proud, not embarrassed. “Oi, that’s too much information!” Ron protested. The others laughed and Finnigan elbowed him in the ribs.

“Don’t let us keep you,” Pansy drawled. “Unless you want to help us finish him?” She looked the snowman up and down, hands on her hips. “He is bloody fit, isn’t he?”

Neville threw himself between Pansy and the snowman with a look of playful disbelief. “Not fitter than me, love?”

“Oh, no, babe.” She kissed him on the lips. Half their friends wolf-whistled and the other half made puking noises. “You’re the fittest bloke around here.”

“I must object,” Draco said, stepping closer to Harry while the others resumed gathering snow a few feet away from them.

“If you’re talking about _you,_ then I have to agree,” Harry smiled at him.

“Damnit, Potter. You’re supposed to antagonise me, remember?”

Harry slid his gloved hand into Draco’s. “For your sake, or theirs?” He nodded toward their friends. “I think they’ve an inkling that I like you.”

Draco felt his face heat. He buried his chin into his Slytherin scarf. “Oh, Merlin,” he muttered.

“Do you not want them to know about us?” Harry asked, his face earnest.

“I don’t mind,” Draco told him. “I’ve... I’ve no problem with people knowing I’m with you. But I could understand if you did.”

Harry sighed. His exasperation wasn’t directed at Draco, however. “I want you to know once and for all,” he said, “that I will _never_ be ashamed of this.” His fingers squeezed Draco’s. “No matter what people might say. No matter what you hear. Alright?”

“Alright,” Draco said, and they looked at each other, smiling. A snowball landed on Harry’s shoulder, snapping them out of their moment.

“Oi! Lovebirds! Come and give us a hand, will ya?” Finnigan shouted.

“Merlin, Seamus, please tell me you and I aren’t that gross,” Thomas laughed. His boyfriend closed his arms around him in a tight bear hug.

“I sure hope we are, babe,” he said. “Let’s show ‘em.”

“No!” their friends laughed, raining snowballs on them. Finnigan and Thomas kept snogging, Thomas only letting go of Finnigan’s face to flip the others two fingers.

With one last smile, Harry joined the snowman-building group. Luna Lovegood was next to Draco in an instant.

“It’s weird,” she told him. “Your aura is both pink and blue. Happy and sad.” Behind her goggles, her eyes were wide and thoughtful. “Are you okay, Draco?”

“Yes. And no,” Draco shrugged. “Like my aura, I guess.”

“You are hard to read,” she said. “Harder than Ginny. Her aura is red and pink all the time.” Draco glanced at Ginny Weasley. Her grin was positively dazzling. It grew wider when she looked in Luna’s direction.

“No kidding,” he muttered.

“Or Greg. His aura has disappeared completely,” Luna mused.

“Has it?” Draco felt his stomach drop. “Since when?”

“Since last May. I think I know why. Don’t you?”

Luna was gazing at him, unwavering. Draco wondered how much she knew. The girl had always had the detached, bluntly forthright quality of a Seer.

“I do,” he said.

“His aura was never pretty to begin with,” she continued as though Draco’s sunny afternoon hadn’t taken a darker shade. “It was always murky and dark. Not like yours.”

Draco had to remind himself that he didn’t believe in such things as auras. He looked at her. 

“What do you mean?”

“Your aura has always been the same colour as Harry’s,” she said simply. _“Always._ Until recently.”

“How recently?”

“Two weeks ago, maybe?”

Draco swallowed. He knew all too well what had happened two weeks ago.

 _“Why, Draco dear. Haven’t you guessed? It’s easy as pie. They want you to_ kill him, _of course.”_

Luna blinked behind her goggles. “I’ve seen it before. My dad’s aura was all kinds of bonkers after my mum died. But it will come back,” she said confidently. “And then you two will look so pretty side by side with your auras matching.” She smiled at him. “I can’t wait.”

She sauntered away to meet her laughing girlfriend, and Draco was left to discreetly glance upward, wondering if he’d catch a glimpse of his supposedly beautiful aura.

***

The sky was turning orange and pink when a shiny-faced and frizzy-haired Hermione cast the last preserving spell on the snowman—a masterpiece of sculpture and collaboration, if she was to be believed—and everyone took the direction of the castle. His hand in Harry’s, walking side by side with him, Draco noticed most of them were in pairs. Ginny and Luna, Ron and Hermione, Pansy and Neville, Dean and Seamus. It seemed so easy, so normal—a group of teenagers, some single, some not, walking back from an afternoon of teasing and fun in the snow.

So normal—until Ginny’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

“Merlin, LOOK! Oh no, somebody help him!”

She let go of Luna’s hand and ran forward. In the distance, Draco saw them: starkly black against the white backdrop of the snow-covered Hogwarts grounds, there were two ravens chasing and pecking cruelly at a tiny creature that looked suspiciously like—

 _Jeff the Niffler_.

Draco’s stomach dropped. Jeff had stopped running to bat his little paws at the birds. Charybd and Scylla took flight only to dive and peck him with their sharp beaks again. Protecting his head, the poor animal was half howling in pain, half cursing Mephistopheles’s ravens to the ends of Hell.

“Leggo of me, you HELLISH BEASTS, you pseudo-mythical MONSTERS, you self-important CRETINS, I have done nothing, NOTHING, I say leave me alone this instant!”

“Oi!” Ginny Weasley closed the distance with the struggling animal and started throwing hexes at the birds. One of them hit Scylla: in a burst of sparkles and stars, she turned into a white dove.

“HahaHA!!” yelled Jeff, pointing at her. “Take THAT, you sightless fiend! Don’t look so scary now huh, FLUFFY?!”

With furious caws, Charybd and Scylla took flight, a far less ominous pair than when they were both black, white-eyed ravens.

Draco caught up with Ginny, the others on his heels. When he saw him, Jeff ran to him and fell on his knees, gripping Draco’s bootlaces pleadingly.

“Draco!” he squealed. “I saw my final hour coming! Thank Lucifer you’re here to save me with the Fiendfyre-haired girl!”

“Shhh!!” Draco pushed the Niffler off his boot, looking left and right. “I’m not supposed to know you!”

He saw Ginny glance at him questioningly a few feet away. He was shushing a talking Niffler, it was only natural—

“They can’t hear me,” Jeff said hastily. “You’re a demon, I’m a demonic pet, we can communicate.” He shook Draco’s bootlaces again. “C’mon, Draco, hurry! The ravens have been following me around. They know I'm helping you. You have to do something!”

“What’s going on?” Ginny asked, walking towards them. She canted her head to take a better look at the Niffler. “Hey, little one,” she smiled sweetly. “It’s over. I took care of the bad birds. They’ll learn it’s wise to never be found on the receiving end of my hexes.”

“A Niffler,” came Luna’s dreamy voice from behind them. “They’re such fantastic creatures, Draco. Do you know they have Nanticoot-repelling powers?”

Draco had never encountered a Nanticoot in any of his lives, nor had he ever heard of the term. However, when in doubt, it was always best not to ask too many questions with Luna.

Harry joined them, putting his hand on Draco’s shoulder. “He’s not wild, though. Look, he’s wearing a collar.”

Draco froze when he looked down at what Harry was pointing at. Jeff was wearing something indeed. A large emerald-and-Goblin-silver ring, its former engraved ‘M’ polished away, was dangling from his neck by a red ribbon—one of the ribbons that the Eighth Years had tied and used to hang baubles on the Christmas tree. Caught, the Niffler grimaced apologetically at Draco. _Sorry,_ he mouthed. Draco shot him a deathly glare.

“Oooh,” Luna said, bending over and grabbing the Niffler by his armpits. “You are so pretty. What have you got here?” She squinted at the ring from behind her goggles. “Oh, I have seen this before...”

“Maybe we should let him go now!” Draco interjected, interrupting her. “The ravens are gone, he’s safe, isn’t he?”

Jeff cast him a beseeching look, made even more convincing by his powerless position, dangling from Luna Lovegood’s hands.

“Draco! PLEASE!” He begged. “Don’t let me go back there! They’ll tear me to pieces, those ravens, they will! Even if they spare this poor ol’ Niffler, Mephisto’s going to ask questions!”

 _Oh no, this wouldn’t do._ Tearing his eyes away from the fascinating sight of a talking animal that no one else but Draco could hear speak, Draco told the little group gathered around him: “Or, you know, maybe not. We don’t want to set him out on the grounds and have him attacked and killed, do we?”

Harry lifted a quizzical eyebrow but Luna brought the Niffler to her chest, squeezing him like a plush toy.

“Oh, we should keep him! Can we, Ginny?”

Ginny wrapped her arm around her girlfriend’s shoulders and kissed her cheek. “Do we really need another pet, Luna? Especially one that will go through our drawers for shiny new things every once in a while?”

“He already has a shiny thing of his own,” Luna said, examining the ring again. Jeff squirmed in her hands. He seemed to realise he had just been adopted by a human.

“Fine,” Ginny rolled her eyes fondly. “We give him a week, see how it goes. If he behaves, he stays.”

“Don’t let Filch find him or your new pet is gone,” Dean Thomas said, moving towards the lit up Entrance Gate.

Draco felt Harry’s hand slip into his again, pulling him towards the castle. This was something Harry liked, apparently. Hand-holding. The cold afternoon air smelled of snow and firewood and Draco felt warm again.

“What do you think we should call him?” He heard Ginny ask Luna a few feet ahead of them.

“What’s a good name for a Niffler?” Luna said, placing Jeff on her shoulder. Jeff, resigned to his fate and determined to make a good impression, curled around her scarf.

“I think you should call him Jeff,” Draco suggested behind them.

Harry snorted. “Good name.”

“It is, actually,” Luna said dreamily. “He looks like a Jeff. Doesn’t he, love?”

“He does, babe,” Ginny confirmed. She kissed Luna’s temple and stroked the Niffler’s little head. “Jeff it is!”

Draco caught the Niffler’s dark, beady eyes over Luna’s shoulder.

They were crinkled in a grateful smile.


	19. A Reindeer

**_Saturday, 19 December 1998_ **

The song progressed, slow and suspenseful, and Draco let the music envelop him, surround him.

_ This is Major Tom to Ground Control... _

“I can show you more space-related music if you want,” Harry had told him over breakfast. He had rummaged in his trunk at the foot of the bed and pulled out a dozen flat square boxes. Most of the Muggle bands Harry liked, it turned out, either bore rather ominous names (“This one is _Massive Attack,_ ” Harry had explained, “and this one is _Smashing Pumpkins_ _”)_ or were named after variations of the word ‘head’ (“ _Portishead, Radiohead, Talking Heads..._ Merlin, you're right,” Harry had admitted, laughing. “Here, let me show you this one. It's from David Bowie.”)

_ I'm stepping through the door... _

Harry brought his hand to Draco's face, stroking his thumb across his cheekbone. 

They were lying on their sides, on top of the bed covers of Harry's bed, sharing Harry's headphones to listen to the song. Harry mirrored Draco's position, a safe few inches between their bodies. Close enough to feel his warmth, just far enough to be able to focus on the music without wanting to merge his body with Harry's. There was no choice but to maintain eye contact. Staring into Harry's face, unobstructed, letting Harry look into his eyes with no way out... it was more intimate than anything Draco had ever done—and they had had sex against the Quidditch bathroom sink two days ago. 

Harry's eyes were so green. There were tiny flecks of gold and brown in his irises like glimpses of constellations.

_ And I'm floating in the most peculiar way... _

Harry's hand slid into his hair, carding through it. There was an intense expression on his face, a line across his forehead. It twisted his legendary scar, drawing Draco's eyes to it. Harry's fingers pulled lightly and Draco had to fight not to close his eyes in bliss. It was like floating, untethered, stepping out of everything he'd always been certain of and into uncharted, terrifying, soaring new territory.

_ And the stars look very different today... _

It would soon all be over. Until then, he was going to do something he'd never done in any of his lives: love every minute of it.

He lifted his hand and rested it on the side of Harry's neck, marveling at the way it contracted under his palm. Harry swallowed for no other reason than Draco touching him. Draco saw him half-close his eyes, move closer to him, closer—

“Mate, I need your help.”

Harry's head jerked up. “Ron?” he asked, pulling his headphone off. 

Then, taking a look at his friend over Draco’s shoulder, he dissolved into laughter.

Draco gaped at Harry for a second before slowly turning to look at Weasley—

—who was standing in the middle of the room, completely starkers if for a—a literal  _ cock cover _ shaped like a—

“Is that—is that a  _ reindeer?”  _ Harry weezed between fits of giggles. Draco sat up in the bed, hand on his mouth. He’d seen a lot of unsolicited disasters in his lives, but this surely took the cake.

Red-faced, Ron shifted from one foot to another. The reindeer’s head jiggled along and Draco covered his eyes.

“Merlin, Weasley!” He groaned. “Are you  _ always _ barging into your dorm room unannounced when wearing animal-shaped pants?”

“No, Malfoy,” Ron snapped. “Just this once.”

“I should hope so,” Draco muttered, and Harry’s giggles redoubled. Draco fought down a crooked smile. He resented Ron for the missed opportunity of kissing Harry, but at the same time Harry’s hilarity was contagious. 

“What—the—actual—f—” Harry tried to say, still laughing and wiping the tears from his eyes.

“What Harry means,” Draco interrupted with a drawl, “is that it would be truly lovely if you cared to explain,” he gestured up and down towards Ron, “—this.”

Ron’s face turned a darker shade of maroon. “I didn’t mean for you to be here, Malfoy.”

“Oh, so this racy display is for Harry’s eyes only?” Draco made to stand. To his surprise, Ron stopped him.

“You can stay... it’s fine.” He didn’t look Draco in the eyes. “After all, you’re Harry’s boyfriend, and... maybe you can help, too.”

Draco stood still, unable to decide if he was more flabbergasted by Ron Weasley freely calling him  _ Harry’s boyfriend _ or by his trust in sharing with Draco whatever issue he had. That was, until Ron came and sat on the bed next to Draco, his naked legs peppered with orange hair and freckles dangling from the side of the mattress and his bare arse on Harry’s covers. He wrung his hands in his lap for a while, biting his bottom lip while Harry’s giggles died down.

“Alright. Okay,” Harry eventually exhaled a breath shaky with mirth. “We’re listening. Explain the reindeer,  _ Father Christmas _ . _ ” _

“Oh, Merlin,” Ron said, his blush returning with a vengeance. “See, last month, Hermione... er, told me she thought it would be fun to spice things up sometime.”

It was Harry’s turn to cover his eyes. “Oh no.  _ Nononononono. _ I am not ready to discuss your and Hermione’s sex life.”

“Shh, Potter, let the man speak.” Draco put his hand on Harry’s arm, turning his attention to Ron, his instinct for gossip and hidden information perking up. Keeping his face serious so that he wouldn’t deter Ron, he nodded: “Go on, Weasley.”

Still read in the face, Ron furrowed his brow. “I’ve changed my mind. I don’t think I can talk about this.”

“Oh no, you haven’t. You can’t waltz in here  _ dangling—” _ Draco looked at Ron’s crotch pointedly and Ron promptly covered the reindeer with his hands, “—what looks like a truly juicy story in front of us and leave us  _ hanging.” _

“Merlin, you’ve got to stop with the puns, Malfoy. I’d much rather walk straight out of here and into the Common Room than tell you anything more if you don’t.” Draco pressed his lips shut and gave him his best angelic look. Ron crossed his arms. “Fine. Okay. So Hermione and I talked about it. I was fine with the idea of having new kinds of, er, fun, if you know what I mean.”

Still hiding behind his hands, Harry groaned. “We know what you mean, Ron.”

“But see, I didn’t think we needed to shake things up or anything. Things are... pretty brilliant, you know? I mean we don’t get to, er.  _ Have fun. _ As often as we’d like,” he squirmed on the bed, “but it’s bloody amazing when we do as far as I’m concerned.”

“Alright, even  _ I _ have to intervene and tell you this is more information than we need, Weasley,” Draco drawled, and Harry giggled again behind his hands.

Ron threw him a dark look but continued. “I think it’s the reason why she thought about it. She said she’d like to take her time next time and—” 

Draco and Harry both groaned. “Ron!”

“Alright!” Ron threw his hands up. “Of course I told her I thought it was a brilliant idea, because who wouldn't, you know? But then, I didn’t know who to ask. I wasn’t going to ask Dean and Seamus because I’d never hear the end of it. I wasn’t going to ask my sister—” he shuddered. “And at the time you were single, Harry, and last time we’d talked about it you hadn’t done anything—”

Dropping his hands, Harry gaped at Ron, blushing furiously.

“It’s okay,” Ron said quickly, “it’s nothing to be ashamed of, mate! I mean, now that you’ve—you know,” he looked at Draco meaningfully.

“We haven’t!” Harry cut him off.

Ron’s face fell. “Oh.”

“Is this why you wanted Harry’s help?” Draco couldn’t help but laugh. “Because you thought we’d done it?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Even if we had,” Harry said, “Draco and I have been together for less than a week. How fast do you think we’d need to spice things up?”

“I don’t know!” Ron said defensively. “Maybe it’s different for... just guys.”

Draco caught Harry’s eyes, elusive and shy. “I don’t think it is,” he said simply.

“Who did you end up going to for help, then?” Harry asked.

Ron seemed to realise his mistake before even saying the name. “George.” Draco and Harry burst out laughing. “It’s not funny! Stop laughing!” Ron yelled but started laughing with them. 

“It is,” Draco said, breathlessly holding his ribs between giggles. “It’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I am terribly gullible, aren’t I?” Ron grinned slowly. He seemed to remember he was almost completely naked and shivered. “Blimey, it’s so bloody cold in this castle.”

“True,” Draco drawled, “it’s so cold Father Christmas’s reindeer might not be able to  _ get up _ for its  _ long night _ of delivering  _ presents.” _

“Aaaand... that’s my cue to leave,” Ron stood, his bare freckled arse clenching with the cold. He turned around to look between Harry and Draco then pointed at his reindeer-covered crotch. “Should I assume the same reaction out of Hermione as you?”

“If you want her to still be your girlfriend after Christmas, I’d suggest you keep things simple, mate,” Harry laughed.

“Yes, Weasley,” Draco provided. “She said she wanted  _ time _ next time. Make sure you find it. That’s an easy enough gift to give.”

Ron heaved a defeated sigh. “Thanks, mate.” He walked to the bathroom. “I’m going to go change and then send George a Howler.”

Draco shook his head as Ron left. 

“Merlin. What a laugh.” When he turned around, he found Harry watching him with an odd look on his face. “What?”

“That was... nice of you,” Harry said.

Draco lifted an eyebrow. “Thank you.”

Harry moved closer. “I mean it. The advice you gave Ron... it’s actually really good.”

“Lose the reindeer cock cover?”

“Take your time.”

Draco’s mouth formed an ‘oh’ a split-second before Harry dove in and kissed it. With a sharp exhale, Draco fell back against the mattress, Harry on top of him, the headphones of Harry's Muggle music device tangling in their clothes. Draco slid his hands into Harry's hair and deepened their kiss with a moan. Hard within seconds, he bucked his hips up, seeking Harry’s, finding Harry’s responding hardness against him. Hell, he wanted him so much.  _ Love every minute of it, _ his mind chanted.  _ Do it do it do it.  _ Harry thrust his hips against his, pinning him against the mattress, the press of his erection so unmistakable, all for Draco, all because of Draco. Draco’s eyes rolled back.  _ Let him get you naked,  _ his mind was now screaming, his body straining with need,  _ let him touch your cock, you liked it when he did, you  _ loved _ it, let yourself feel his hard prick sliding against your own, yes, wet and sticky, you would love it— _

Harry’s hand snaked under Draco’s shirt, and Draco grabbed his wrist and stopped him.

“Wait.” Glasses askew, Harry looked up. “Wait,” Draco said again, more softly. He stroked Harry’s cheek. There was so much reverence in the gesture, so much pent-up want. “I meant it,” he said.

Harry smiled, lips pink and wet from their kiss, and nodded gently. “Slow.”

“Yes.”

Harry kissed him, his warm hand still on Draco’s stomach underneath his shirt. When they broke the kiss, he gazed at Draco, his small, crooked smile making Draco’s chest ache, a reminder of their earlier staring, the sound of an astronaut song in their ears. His thumb traced small circles on his skin. His hand slid up to rest where Draco’s heart should be. Draco stilled, hoping Harry wouldn’t notice: nothing in here, nothing beating, no heart, silver or otherwise. The ache in his chest intensified, and Draco held his breath.

“Tomorrow,” he whispered. It was barely a question. He knew Harry—knew him so well, knew him with a certainty that frightened him. He didn’t need to ask.

“Yes,” Harry murmured, never looking away from Draco’s eyes. “Tomorrow.” He smiled. “We'll take it slow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Harry and Draco listen to in this chapter is _Space Oddity_ by David Bowie.


	20. A Heart

**_Sunday, 20 December 1998_ **

This was turning out to be the longest day of Draco’s hundred lives. Unfortunately, it was also a Sunday, which meant Draco had no meaningful distractions to occupy his time.

If he’d known... No, that was a useless train of thought. If he’d known, he would have acted the exact same way, asked the exact same thing.

He loved Harry. He would never love anyone else. He’d lived long enough to feel the truth of it in his blood, in his bones.

Soon, he would have to die. Until then—

_ Love every moment of it. _

He floated from one end of the day to the other in a daze. 

_ Tomorrow night, _ Harry had promised.  _ Come to mine, _ he’d whispered into Draco’s ear.  _ We’ll close the drapes. We’ll put up Silencing spells. No one will know. _

Around him, the school was getting ready for the last stretch before the end of year holidays. Every surface that could be decorated had been decorated. The stairwells’ bannisters were decked with tinsel shining with the colours of all former Houses; there were fir trees covered in gold and silver baubles at every corner; every one of the suits of armour were now wearing red bobble hats, singing Celestina Warbeck’s greatest Christmas carols and shouting  _ Happy holidays! Merry Christmas! _ whenever a student passed them by. Magic snow was falling from the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall and the tables were practically sagging under the weight of roast turkey and Christmas pudding.

Draco pushed his dinner around his plate. Everything tasted the same today. His mind was miles away from food anyway. More specifically, it had latched onto the inescapable idea of Harry, lying naked and wanting across the mattress. It was like having his mind short-circuit several times a minute, the image looping over and over in his head; the heat of Harry’s soft, insistent lips still lingering on Draco’s, the touch of his hand laid on his chest still sending thrills down his gut.

“Hey,” Greg’s heavy voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “Stay with me.”

“I’m here,” Draco gave his head a distracted shake, his gaze returning to Harry at the other end of the Eighth Year table.

“You’re not,” Greg said, somber. “You’re leaving. I can tell.”

Draco eyed him dubiously. He speared a green bean on his fork and brought it to his mouth. “What are you on about, Greg?”

“You have chosen, haven’t you?”

Draco stilled, fork in the air. Greg’s beady brown eyes were studying him. Draco realised, right then. There was no lying to his last standing fellow demon. They’d been around each other too long for that.

He nodded minutely. “You’re right.” He spoke cautiously. “I’m not starting again. Whatever happens... I’m not starting all over again.”

Greg looked down at his big hands on the table. He scratched the back of one with his fingernail. “Are you going forever?” 

Draco caught the implication. “Yes.”  _ Either I live, or Harry does.  _ “I’ve chosen. He deserves to live.”

“So do you,” Greg told him. “You deserve it as much as he does.”

Draco laughed. It sounded bitter. “I know you’re trying to make me feel better, but—”

“Don't... We’ve done this for so long, Draco. Vince and me—we are what we are. Or...  _ were. _ I don't know how to be anything else than a demon. But you...” Greg looked around them, and Draco followed his gaze. The Great Hall was bursting with life, happy students smiling at each other, teasing and playing over good food and fresh pumpkin juice, the air filled with laughter, the clinking of silverware on dishes and the crude sound of Peeves blurting rude Christmas carols as he flew around the Hall. Greg sighed next to him. “You belong here.”

“He's right, Draco,” Luna Lovegood’s dreamy voice sounded behind him. She was staring at him from behind large, pink-framed spectacles, Jeff the Niffler perched on her shoulder. The green emerald of what used to adorn the Malfoy signet ring hung from his neck, winking in the glowing lights, looking utterly inoffensive and festive out of its original context. “You're one of us.”

Draco looked between his friends, the oldest one and the newest. Not for the first time since he had got to know her better, he wondered how much Luna knew. Even if she didn't know the full truth...

Draco glanced at Harry from across the long table just when Harry was glancing at him. His eyes sparkled behind his smudged spectacles, their round shape on his familiar face the most endearing thing Draco had ever seen. Not so long ago he had mocked Harry relentlessly about his stupid glasses, his stupid hair, his stupid face. 

Lucifer, how he longed to be someone else.

Harry blinked, his mouth twisting in a small crooked smile.

“Have a lovely night, Draco,” Luna said. Greg patted Draco on the shoulder as he stood to leave.

***

After leaving the Common Room, Draco had carefully made his way to Harry's dorm room to wait for him. He had been lying in the dark for a nervous while when the drapes of the four-poster bed finally pulled to the side. Harry’s messy head of hair appeared in the sliver of dim light. Draco sat up on the bed. He watched Harry climb onto the mattress and close the drapes behind him. 

Harry turned to face him. Draco couldn’t see much in the darkness, but he could tell by the distance between them and the stiff way Harry held himself that he was nervous.

Of all the words Draco had dreamed to say if he ever found himself in bed with Harry Potter... he’d never dreamed the moment itself would leave him speechless.

On his hands and knees, he went to Harry. He sat on his heels and lifted a careful hand to touch Harry’s face. When he did, Harry pushed into his palm with a closed-eyed sigh.

“Hello,” Draco whispered.

Harry’s eyes gleamed in the dark. “Hello,” he murmured back.

Draco looked at Harry’s face. It was tense, but not with disgust. Not with rejection.

He looked as frightened and eager as Draco felt.

Draco could not believe they were about to—

“We said something about Silencing spells, I believe,” Harry said, keeping his voice low.

“It’s your bed,” Draco said, struck all over again by the reality of it. “You can do the honours.”

With a short exhale that sounded like a snort, Harry waved his wand in a twisting motion, mouthing a wordless incantation. A hush fell over them. He then pointed at the curtains. They shook slightly before falling perfectly still.

“They’re set now,” he explained. Although he had just cast Silencing charms around them, he still kept his voice quiet. Draco didn’t feel like speaking up either. The moment called for whispering intimacy.

“I want to see you,” he said. In the dark, Harry nodded hesitantly.  _ “Lumos,”  _ said Draco. 

A ball of the softest, warmest light floated out of the tip of his wand, and suddenly Harry was in front of him, in the flesh and yet ethereal, the golden light reflected in his round glasses, his green eyes, his shiny black curls.

Draco leaned in and touched his lips to his. Harry responded, his soft lips sliding against Draco’s almost chastely, the first touch of his tongue on his bottom lip so gentle and sweet Draco barely registered it was happening. He opened his mouth for Harry, and Harry slipped in. It wasn’t their first kiss. Draco should have been used to it. Yet the first touch of tongue on tongue still came as a shock, the hot, wet, intimate softness of Harry’s mouth sending a thrill through him, his cock stiffening so fast he gasped and broke for air.

“Alright?” Harry asked, smug despite his equally breathless state.

Draco attacked Harry’s mouth with a kiss of his own. Arms around Draco’s shoulders, Harry let himself fall back against the bed, pulling Draco down on top of him. Sweet Lucifer, the feel of him sprawled out beneath Draco, already hard and panting. Draco kissed him desperately. He wanted to pour everything he was into this kiss, everything he believed in now, everything he loved, all for Harry.  _ I don’t deserve you, _ he wanted to tell him. He didn’t say it. He knew what Harry would answer.  _ I don’t deserve you either, _ he’d say.  _ It’s not a matter of who we deserve. _

He slid his hand under the hem of Harry’s jumper. Harry’s back arched into the touch. Encouraged, Draco snaked his hand further up, along Harry’s warm, taught belly, onto his chest, fingers catching on a hard, pebbled nipple. Harry let out a sudden breath that sounded like a whine. Breath caught in his throat, Draco let his fingers linger there. He explored it, rolling it under the pads of his fingers, pulling lightly, watching as Harry’s breath quickened, as his face contorted with pleasure. With his other hand, he lifted Harry’s jumper up and looked.

Harry’s chest rose and fell in time with his breaths, his nipples hard and dark against his smooth olive skin, dark curly fuzz trailing from his bellybutton to the top of his jeans, the flies already tented by Harry’s erection. Draco lifted his eyes to look at Harry’s face, half-afraid of what he would find there.

Devotion. Lust. Reverence. Want.

And something else that felt almost too painful, almost too good.

Where his heart should have been, Draco’s chest felt swollen, tender, too full, the sensation marvelous and frightening all at once.

_ I love you, _ he thought, certain the feeling would show on his face.

“Come here,” Harry murmured, taking Draco’s arm and pulling him back on top of him. Hands on each side of his face, he kissed him again, the same chaste, sweet kiss they had shared when he’d slid into bed with Draco. “I want you,” he said in Draco’s ear.

“I want you too,” Draco whispered back. It sounded like a confession. 

“Can we—take these off?” Harry said, pulling at the hem of Draco’s shirt.

“Yes,” Draco said. He helped Harry out of his jumper and t-shirt, Harry’s glasses falling off his face in the process. Draco folded the arms and set them at the far corner of the bed.

“Thank you,” Harry laughed softly. “Who’d have thought?”

“What?” 

“For someone who’s made abundant fun of my sellotaped glasses over the years, you are actually quite gentle.”

Draco gave him a crooked smile. “It’s your first time. Of course I’m being gentle.”

“It’s your first time, too.”

“Are we going to make this a competition?”

Harry laughed and sat on the bed, undoing Draco’s shirt buttons. “Let’s call it a draw.” 

He looked into Draco’s eyes when he slid Draco’s open shirt down his shoulders, down his arms. His hands traced Draco’s skin in its wake; the swell of Draco’s biceps, the warmth at the crook of his elbows, the sensitive skin inside his forearms.

The Dark Mark was faded but unmissable, the greying lines stark against Draco’s white skin. In the glow of Draco’s  _ Lumos, _ there was no place to hide.

“Harry...” he started. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want Harry to regret this. 

To regret him.

But Harry took Draco’s left hand in his. He kissed his wrist, trailing up, touched his lips to the Mark. Draco held his breath. Harry lifted his eyes to him, an undefinable emotion in them, and he went past the dark lines, kept kissing up Draco’s arm, his shoulder, the side of his neck, tracing Draco’s body with his lips as though he wanted to map every inch of his skin. Draco let his head fall to the side with a shaky sigh. Not once in his lifetimes had he realised how starved he was for touch.

“Do you want to—?” Harry said, lightly pulling Draco by the shoulders, bringing him down on the mattress with him. His hand moved to the button of Draco’s trousers, not quite touching him yet. Draco swallowed dryly. He nodded.

“Yes.”

He’d had Harry’s fingers around him not two days ago, but looking down to watch as Harry unfastened his trousers with shaky fingers was more erotic than anything Draco had ever experienced. He did the same for Harry, fumbling to unbutton his jeans, pulling at the rough denim and sliding it down Harry’s arse and legs along with his boxers, getting him naked within seconds.

In the dim light, Harry’s cock lay between them, long and hard, so thick it made Draco’s mouth water.

He looked up at Harry.

“I just want to confirm that I am definitely very,  _ very _ gay,” he told him. Harry burst out laughing.

“Wait until I confirm that I am gay, too,” he said and pulled Draco’s trousers down. Draco’s reflexively wanted to hide. He remembered Harry had already seen him naked. Naked, cock leaking with the need to be wanked, Harry rutting fully clothed against his bare arse—

He stifled a moan, clamping his hand around the base of his cock so hard it almost hurt. Now was not the time to come. Grinning, Harry slid closer, wrapping his legs around Draco’s.

“Draco...” he murmured. “God, you’re so beautiful.” He brought his hand to Draco’s cock, pressing his palm against it, feeling the full length of it with his fingers. “Your cock feels amazing.”

“So, definitely gay, then?” Draco asked, voice strained.

Harry exhaled a laugh. “Fuck, don’t make me laugh. This is a very serious moment.”

“It is,” Draco cupped his face and kissed him. “I’ve waited for it.”

“I’ve waited for you,” Harry kissed him back. “So much, Draco.”

Closing his arms around Harry, Draco let his body move. It was—god, it was so easy, so instinctual, as though he’d been born to hold Harry tight, to slide between his parted legs, to feel him leak hot and wet against his stomach. He kissed him again, his hips moving like water, his cock aligning with Harry’s, the hard silkiness of his skin striking him like lightning, bringing tears to his eyes. Harry moaned underneath him and closed his eyes; his fingers curled around Draco’s shoulders, hard enough to bruise. Overwhelmed by the shocking waves of pleasure coursing through him, Draco fought to keep his eyes open, to keep looking at Harry’s face. He would not miss this moment. Harry’s face was transformed by bliss, his mouth slack and open, his breaths coming out sharp and needy, his brow furrowing as Draco moved faster, matching the rhythmic upward movements of Harry’s hips. Inside Draco’s chest, the ache was swelling, swelling, like the tide of pleasure threatening to overcome him.

_ I love you _

“Draco...” Harry moaned. His hands slid to Draco’s arse, pulling him closer, closer, closer. His fingers dipped into his crease and Draco gasped, hips stuttering.

“Fuck, Harry,” he breathed, spreading his legs minutely wider. Their rutting faltered, leaving room for the slow, timid exploration of Harry’s fingers. Draco trembled as Harry slid a finger between his arse cheeks. The touch was terribly intimate. He wasn’t ready for this, but then he might never be. He yearned for it, for Harry to try it, for Harry to go deeper. “You can touch me,” he breathed against Harry’s shoulder.

With a choked sound, Harry obeyed. The tip of his middle finger found Draco’s hole, which twitched under the calloused pad. Draco held himself very still, hips still slotted between Harry’s legs, chest still heaving against Harry’s chest. Harry pressed further and fit his finger in to the knuckle. It was slick and wet. Draco exhaled sharply.

“Did you—?”

“I did,” Harry laughed softly. “A lubrication spell. Non-verbal.”

“And wandless,” Draco said, cheeks flaming. His cock gave him away with a treacherous twitch at the thought. “If you tell me you asked your friends about it, Potter—”

“I asked my friends about it,” Harry grinned against his cheek, and pushed his finger deeper. Draco whimpered. “Are you mad at me?”

“Very,” Draco said, and then didn’t say much else because he was interrupted by his own moan as Harry started pumping his finger in and out of his arse, gently at first. It was... It was amazing, earth-shattering, and Draco didn’t know which urge was stronger, to rut against Harry’s cock or to ram back and let him push his finger deeper. They started moving again, their thrusts a little awkward with Harry’s arm around Draco’s body. 

“You feel so good—so tight, so hot—” Harry was saying mindlessly. Draco was mesmerised, his mind reeling with the need to take it all in, the sensation of Harry in him, under him, so hard and wet against him—

_ I love you _

“Touch me, Draco, please touch me,” Harry moaned, head thrown back, neck exposed. Draco kissed it, more teeth than lips. Resting his weight on his elbow, he slid his other hand between their bodies.

“Spell?” Draco grunted. Inelegant. He didn’t care. Harry touched the fingers of his free hand to Draco’s. His palm tingled with Harry’s magic and the oily slide of conjured lube. He closed his fist around their two cocks and gave a tentative pump. 

“Fuck, Draco,” Harry moaned. “Yeah, like that.”

Draco moved his hand, hips thrusting into his fist. Harry’s finger left his arse and he instantly missed it, but it was better that way. More comfortable, closer to Harry, gazing into his face, letting him take pleasure in Draco’s movements, in Draco’s body—

_ I love you _

The ache in his chest was turning into pain but he pushed it down, ignored it, this was more important, this was more than he’d ever hoped for—

“Draco...” Harry touched Draco’s face, carding his fingers through Draco’s hair, fisting lightly. He was fighting to keep his eyes open. “God, you’re so perfect, you’re so good—”

His chest hurt, but it was the best kind of pain, and Draco pushed through, fisting their cocks, wanking them both, fingers lingering on the silky heads of their leaking pricks just for a second before sliding down their length again, and Harry was the most beautiful man he’d ever seen—

_ I love you _

Harry brought his head down for a kiss, deep and rough, like he needed it more than air. When he let go, there was a look in his eyes, awed, almost painful.

_ I love you _

The pain in Draco’s chest was pulsing and hot. Harry’s strong, warm hand came to rest on it. Draco twisted his wrist on his way down and Harry’s eyes rolled back. 

“I love you,” he said on a moan, holding on to Draco’s shoulders, “Draco, I love you so much.”

Arching into him, too shocked to breathe, Draco pumped his hand frantically, instinctively, faster—

And Harry’s cock pulsed in his fist and he came with a cry, hot and slick, splattering come across their stomachs and on Draco’s fingers.

“You just came, oh god Harry, I made you come,” Draco exhaled sharply, amazed. He had Harry’s come on him, he was wanking himself with Harry’s spunk on his fist, fuck, how was he supposed to last—

He came with a shameless groan, overcome by his own pleasure, his orgasm slicking his fist anew, his hand pumping their spent cocks through the last aftershocks of their climax.

Catching his breath, Draco let go, wiping his hand on the messy bed cover. Harry murmured a wandless  _ Scourgify. _ Draco let the magic sweep across his skin. He rested his weight on Harry, his forehead on his shoulder, Harry’s legs twined around his, Harry’s hand caressing the place in his chest that still felt tender with a pulsing ache. 

Harry let out a shaky laugh.

“Merlin, Draco. Your heart.”

Draco lifted his head sharply, panicked.  _ I don’t have a heart. Don’t let him find out— _

“It’s beating so fast,” Harry smiled.

_ “What?” _

Abruptly, Draco lifted off of Harry. He sat back, panting. He brought his palm to his chest. Lucifer, it hurt, it  _ hurt— _

Under his palm, he could feel a steady, beating pulse.

A heart.

Harry lifted up on his elbow.

“Are you alright?” he asked, brow furrowed. “It’s... normal, you know? After... er, what we just did.”

He blushed faintly at the words, and Draco gaped at him. This beautiful, brilliant, amazing man, who had just had sex with Draco, who had just told Draco he loved him, who was Draco’s one true love... this beautiful, brilliant, amazing man blushed at the mention of the love they’d just made.

Draco burst into incredulous, delighted laughter.

“I’m alright,” he said, lying back in bed and kissing Harry. “I’m more than alright.” He took Harry in his arms and held him tight. “God, Harry. I love you so much.”

No one had told him about this. He didn’t know it was even possible. And yet there it was: between Harry’s body and his own, he could feel their hearts beating in unison. He could feel the quiet drumming of his own, flooding his body with new life, pushing him past the threshold of humanity he had teetered along for years.

Harry loved him. Harry had said his name, his name on the lips of his one true love.

And Draco was still alive.

“I love you too,” Harry murmured against his neck. They rocked together, holding tight. “I love you, Draco.”

  
  
  
  



	21. Snow-covered branches in the early morning light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to thank you all for your lovely, amazing comments!! They make me smile and laugh and even tear up at times, you guys are the best.  
> Sorry I haven't replied to all of them yet, it's been a hectic week real life-wise and I haven't found the time to properly answer them. Things should slow down this weekend and I'm looking forward to replying to you all <333

**_Monday, 21 December 1998_ **

Draco took a step, then another. Behind him, Hogwarts scintillated in the first light of dawn that crept across the horizon. His footsteps left dents in the crisp, frosted snow, giving his path away to anyone who would follow. 

Draco wasn't worried about leaving a trace. 

He wasn't worried about anything at all anymore.

Soon he was under the cover of the Forbidden Forest trees. Above him, the snow-covered branches glittered in the early morning light, rays of rose-gold sun catching on frost-shiny bark, twinking like fairy lights in a Christmas tree. 

He'd left the warmth of Harry's bed just before sunrise. Harry had still been asleep, his body draped across Draco's chest, the fingers of his right hand laced with Draco's left, his ear against Draco's heart.

_ His heart. _

Draco hadn't slept at all. He had laid very still, long after Harry had curled up against him, unaware of Draco's turmoil, his breathing slowing down to the soft snoring sound of deep sleep. Draco had held Harry in his arms. Harry, who had shivered and gasped as he’d come in Draco’s hand. Harry, who had said he loved him. Harry, who didn’t know Draco hadn’t had a heart before tonight. The beat of it was unfamiliar, uncomfortably strong. After he’d made sure Harry was fast asleep, Draco had carefully placed his hand over his chest where he could feel the faint drumming of his heart. He had waited until morning to slip out of Harry's arms. 

He needed an answer, and there was only one person in the world who could provide it.

Draco walked and walked. The snow thinned; the vegetation thickened. He wasn’t mindful of the noise. All he could hear was the rhythmic rushing of his own blood in his ears, as alive as everything around him was cold and still.

The ancient red oak tree stood in the middle of the clearing just like Draco remembered it from hundreds of previous nightly visits. Standing on the threshold of the clearing, Draco took a few moments to grudgingly admire it. It was as majestic and formidable as ever, yet the air around it was heavy with melancholy. Something in the red oak tree was longingly calling to Draco, as though sensing he was never coming back.

With a sigh, Draco crossed the clearing and lay his hand on the warm bark.

He waited, his heart pounding in his throat, until he heard the familiar flapping of wings above him. When he looked up, Mephistopheles was there, perched on a branch. 

One look at Draco and his jaw dropped.

“Draco,” he croaked, horror-struck. “Draco,  _ what have you done?” _

“What  _ have _ I done?” Draco asked, spreading his arms. In the hush of the clearing, his voice came out young and small, exactly as he felt. For all that he teased Mephistopheles, he'd never realised how much he relied on his mentor for guidance, for  _ answers. _

Mephistopheles glided to the ground and landed in front of Draco. His horrified expression didn't relent. 

On the branch above, a black raven and a white dove were watching them.

“Your wings...” Mephistopheles rasped. “They're  _ gone.” _

Draco tried to reach his wings with his mind. Nothing happened. Looking over his shoulder, he saw nothing where his shiny black wings should have been.

Inside his chest, his heart leapt and beat faster.

“Something happened,” he told Mephisto.

Mephisto leaned in closer, listening intently. Draco was certain his heart was loud enough to be heard to the far ends of the Forbidden Forest.

“ _ What _ happened?” Mephisto gasped. There was an anguished look in his red-rimmed eyes. He wrung his hands and repeated: “Draco, what have you  _ done?” _

_ “Draco!”  _ cawed Charybd above them.

_ “Roo,” _ cooed Scylla.

Draco's voice was quiet. “What kind of magic is this?” he asked.

“This—this isn't magic, Draco. This is older than magic. This is as old as life itself. I'm afraid I cannot undo it.”

“I thought I'd die,” Draco said. “You told me I'd die. You told me it would  _ kill me—” _

“—your name on the lips of your one true love,” Mephisto breathed as realisation dawned on him. 

“But I'm not dead,” Draco said. He wondered if Mephisto could hear his unspoken question.

“Oh, Draco,” Mephisto shook his head mournfully, “Draco, you might as well be.”

“What do you mean?” Draco asked, panicked. “I was ready to die. I needed to save him—”

“Draco, you  _ are _ going to die. Don't you see?” Mephisto batted his wings, sending a whiff of sulfur-scented air toward Draco. He stepped closer and tapped a yellow-nailed finger to Draco's chest where his heart was beating. “Your wings are gone! You have grown a  _ heart!”  _ He spat as though the word was dirt in his mouth. “You're not a  _ demon _ anymore, Draco. You're... you’re  _ human.” _

_ “Human!” _ cried Charybd.

_ “Roo,” _ cooed Scylla.

In the ensuing silence, Draco held his breath.

“Human?” he whispered.

“Yes, youngling,” Mephisto sighed. “Didn’t I warn you? Didn’t I hammer it into your tiny little brain? There are only two things that can kill a demon! Oh, Draco, Draco,  _ Draco!” _ He pulled at his wispy hair. “You went and fell in love like a  _ vulgar _ human!”

But Draco wasn’t listening. Hand over his new lovely beating heart, he smiled. An overwhelming wave of exultation and relief almost suffocated him.

“I’m  _ alive,” _ he said. “He’s going to live, and so am I.” He grinned ecstatically. “I’m not going to die.”

“Well yes, you are!” Mephisto dropped his hands, defeated. “All because you wanted to protect the useless piece of humanity that is Harry Potter! Well, it worked, didn’t it? You can be proud of yourself. You’re going to live your measly little human life, and then you’ll die. You can kiss your eternal youthful lives goodbye!”

Laughter bubbled up Draco’s chest. He felt a little hysterical. He couldn’t find it in him to care.

“That’s wonderful, Mephisto!” he said. He laughed irrepressibly. “That’s all I ever wanted!”

Mephisto balled his fists.“Do you not have any respect for everything I’ve done for you? Everything I’ve taught you—all the wrongdoing—”

“Mephisto,” Draco grinned at him, eyes shiny and wet. “You’ve done so much. You gave me the key.  _ My name on the lips of my one true love.”  _ He took his mentor’s burned, clawed hands in his. “You’re the reason he’s safe now. You’re the reason I’m alive. I’ll never thank you enough.”

Mephisto stared at him for a long moment, several emotions flashing on his face. Eventually he seemed to snap out of his sentimental contemplation and pulled his hands out of Draco’s grip.

“The Bosses are going to go mental, let me tell you,” he sniffed. “I can hear them from here.  _ You had the perfect record, Mephistopheles, how could you let this one slip? And during a high-profile mission, if that wasn't enough! _ Oh, I'm good for a three-week stay in one of the fire pits of Hell or another!”

“Don't you  _ like _ the fire pits, though?” Draco asked. 

Mephistopheles shot him a look.

“Yeah... you know I do.”

Draco tilted his head. Gently, he asked, “So what is this really about?”

Mephisto rolled his red-rimmed eyes. Above him, Scylla shook her white wings and cooed.

“Everything is changing,” he said wistfully. “My birds used to strike fear and panic in the hearts of humans. Now one of them is a  _ dove, _ which is an embarrassment. What kind of infernal image am I conveying with a white dove perched on my shoulder? The Bosses will never take me seriously again. I'm telling you, there goes my promotion—”

“I'm sorry,” Draco said. He'd have to congratulate Ginny on her spellwork: it seemed that even a demon from Hell couldn't reverse it.

“—and my Niffler has gone Lucifer knows where, and you went and became bloody human, and—and I'm left alone with a pair of laughably mismatched birds for company.”

“I’m sorry, Mephisto,” Draco said again. He hesitated a second, then stepped in and hugged the old demon. “Thank you.”

“Don’t call me Mephisto,” Mephisto grumbled over his shoulder. Draco snorted and let go. 

“I won’t call you anything anymore. I’m leaving.” Everything was getting a bit blurry, and Draco wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. He let out a shaky laugh. “This is goodbye, I think.”

Mephisto shook his head. He smiled sadly, lips tight. “Don’t ask me how, but I always knew this day would come. You were never like the others, Draco. You never—pardon the expression— _ put your heart _ into it like the others did.”

“I know,” Draco smiled, remembering Luna’s words. “I'm not like the others. I’ve this...  _ aura.” _

Mephisto narrowed his eyes. “An aura? What kind of preposterous human nonsense is this?”

“It's nonsense as preposterous as sending someone to the moon. Or atoning for one’s mislead choices. Or growing a new heart.” He held out his hand for Mephisto to shake. “Goodbye, Mephistopheles.”

“Goodbye, Draco,” Mephisto sighed, taking Draco’s hand in his long, calloused fingers. “I shall see you on the other side.”

Draco grinned at him. “Not if I have a choice in the matter.”

The sun had finally risen. Bright rays of light were piercing the canopy of trees, flooding the clearing with golden light. Draco’s new heart soared in his chest. Harry would wake soon, and he wanted to be there when he did. 

With one last look at his old demonic mentor, Draco turned and stepped away.


	22. A Christmas wish

**_Tuesday, 22 December 1998_ **

Draco returned to Harry’s bed just as Harry was waking up. None of Harry’s roommates had yet stirred. It was still early in the morning; they wouldn’t be awake for another hour at least.

Harry peered at Draco from under the cover, sleep-warm and endearingly rumpled. 

“Where have you been?” he asked, his voice scratchy from sleep. Draco’s heart leapt in his chest.

“Went for a walk,” he said quietly, climbing into bed.

Harry pulled him on top of his warm body like a blanket. He smiled, a smile entirely too sinful even for Draco who had just come back from the entrance of Hell. “Needed to reflect on last night?”

“Yes,” Draco said. It was barely a white lie. “I needed to reflect on how exceedingly lucky I got.”

Harry laughed quietly and kissed him. His mouth was soft and hot and insistent and Draco wanted to melt into him. He slipped his hand between them—no hesitation this time—found Harry’s hard cock and took it in his fist. Harry arched into him with a gasp.

“I missed you,” Draco whispered against his jaw.

“It’s only been a few hours,” Harry laughed breathlessly. “We were asleep.”

“Too long,” Draco said, running his fingers up Harry’s shaft, feeling the first drops of precome leaking on his hand. “Too long since I  _ felt  _ you. Fuck sleep. I’m never sleeping again.”

“No, you’re not,” Harry said and kissed him again, biting lightly, slipping his tongue into Draco’s mouth. Draco moaned, hoping the Silencing charms still held around Harry’s bed. He wouldn’t manage to keep quiet—and by the looks of it, neither would Harry. He broke the kiss and let go of Harry’s cock. “Fuck,” Harry said. “What are you—”

“Just making this better for you.” Draco grabbed his wand in his trousers pocket and aimed it at the palm of his hand. He took a moment to realise he didn’t know the spell. Looking at Harry, he found him watching him, his mouth twisted in that irresistibly crooked half-smile. Draco felt himself blush.

“What?”

“It’s  _ Lubricatum. _ And you’re so bloody hot.”

“When I forget the incantation for a spell?”

“When you take care of me like this.”

Emotion threatened to overcome him, so Draco leaned in and kissed Harry. He couldn’t stand  _ not  _ kissing him. He wrapped his hand around Harry’s erection again and tugged once. Harry was so hard already. Draco’s mouth watered at the feel of his long, thick cock sliding easily in and out of his slick fist. Harry moaned approvingly into his mouth and Draco wanked him harder, faster, feeling Harry tense and harden in his hand before he cried out and came. Hot spunk splattered Draco’s hand and Harry’s belly and Draco lost his mind. He reached down, unbuttoned his own flies, pulled his cock out and rutted desperately against Harry’s thigh. Eyes trained on the streaks of pearlescent come on Harry’s olive skin, he came on Harry’s softening prick after barely a few thrusts.

Panting, flooded with pleasure, he tucked himself against Harry’s naked body. He felt Harry reach up and slide his fingers into the short hair at the back of his neck, carding lightly.

“Feels good,” he muttered into Harry’s shoulder.

_ “You _ feel good,” Harry said. There was a sated smile in his voice and Draco felt his face heat. He was the one who’d made Harry sound like this. “You feel  _ amazing.  _ That is a brilliant way to wake up.”

Draco squirmed. “Well,  _ ideally... _ next time, I’ll try to take my clothes off all the way before I come all over them like a teenager.”

“Draco, we  _ are  _ teenagers. If you want to come in your pants, it’s now or never.”

Draco laughed softly, gazing at Harry in wonder. 

“Merlin, who'd have known that we would be so good together,” he said.

“I had an inkling,” Harry said. Eyes half closed, he cupped Draco's cheek. “It's only the beginning.”

“Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. Coming to their senses at long last.” Draco moved closer. He bit his lip, pondering whether or not to say what was on his mind. “Do you maybe wish... we had done this sooner?”

Harry rolled on his back, eyes on the canopy of his four-poster bed. He took a moment to reflect on Draco’s question. “Dunno. Sometimes... yes. Merlin, yes. When we... when we're together like that... I can't understand how we didn't get there sooner, you know?” His hand found Draco's left wrist. “But... I also think we both needed time. I had things to do and...” His fingers trailed up lightly, stroking Draco's Mark almost absently. “...and you had things to figure out.”

Draco swallowed. He thought of what all his lives had been. An endless cycle of bullying, haughty glares and nasty words, repeated over and over again, never stopping to wonder if there was a way out. “I wouldn't have figured anything out if I hadn't met you.”

“You should give yourself more credit.” Harry turned and gazed at him. “You have a good heart. You just learned to hide it well.”

“A heart of silver,” Draco murmured.

“Exactly.”

They stayed quiet for a while. Harry’s thumb was still sweeping over Draco’s pulse point in his wrist, lightly, lightly. At a different time, Draco would have thought of some snappy remark and pulled his wrist away briskly. At a different time, laying quiet and vulnerable in Harry’s bed after they’d enthusiastically got off together was unthinkable. At a different time, all Draco could do to hide his attraction was to spew venom and idle challenges in Harry’s face.

There was nothing left to hide now. So when Harry eventually turned his face towards Draco, Draco met his gaze unflinchingly.

“Your mother wrote to me.”

“What?” Draco lifted on his elbow.

“She did,” Harry looked a bit smug, as though he had news Draco wasn't aware of. “She wrote to me last Friday.”

“What did she want?”

“She didn’t  _ want _ anything,” Harry rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “She said she was spending Christmas Eve at Andromeda’s and that she was looking forward to seeing me there.”

“You’re going there, too?” Draco remembered his mother’s innocuous note from last Friday.  _ Andromeda suggested we join her in London for Christmas Eve,  _ it said.  _ My sister is alone, and so am I. If she believes the wand can be buried, then I shall not be the one to dispute it.  _ And the usual post scriptum:  _ Please give Harry Potter my best. _ Draco hadn’t thought anything of it, except perhaps that he was pleased to find that his mother had made up with her sister.

Now it looked like he was about to spend Christmas Eve with his mother, his aunt, his cousin... and his boyfriend of just over a week.

“Do you not want me to?” Harry asked. There was a straightforwardness in his question that reminded Draco of how deeply  _ Gryffindor _ Harry was.

“Do  _ you _ want to?” Draco deflected. “I thought you were spending Christmas with the Weasleys. I heard Hermione mention it at breakfast the other day.”

Harry’s face turned softer. “You’re calling her ‘Hermione’ now?”

“Well...  _ the friends of my friends are  _ my _ friends.” _ Draco rubbed the side of his neck, embarrassed. “Her words, not mine.”

“What about your boyfriend’s friends?”

“That works, too.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Harry insisted.

Draco sighed. “Of course I want you to, Harry,” he said. “I even miss you in my sleep. How do you think I feel about missing you over the holidays?”

Harry brought his face closer. He touched his nose to Draco’s. His warm breath caressed Draco’s skin. Draco tilted his head and kissed his lips.

“Christmas Eve with you, then,” Harry murmured. “And I don’t even have a gift for you.”

“I know, I was there when you went shopping for everyone but me.” Abashed, Harry pulled back. Draco shook his head, pulling him close again. “I don’t care. I don’t need anything from you.” What could he tell Harry? That he’d already given him the most precious gift of all? That they had their whole lives ahead of them, together, all thanks to Harry and the words he’d been brave enough to confess? “Having you here... naked... it’s already more than I could wish for.”

“We can be naked on Christmas Eve, too,” Harry pressed a crooked smile against his cheek.

“Merlin, Potter, have you no shame? At  _ my aunt’s house? _ With my  _ mother _ in the next room?”

Harry laughed. “Oh, as if you’ll manage to keep your hands to yourself if we’re alone in the same room.”

“Are you challenging me, Potter?”

“Maybe I am.” Harry fell back on the covers, his eyes crinkled mischievously. Lucifer, Draco was doomed. He felt a tug of desire at the pit of his gut that made his cock twitch against the sheets. Harry’s eyes immediately fell to it. It only made matters worse. Draco scowled at him.

“Don’t. We need to get to the bottom of this Christmas invitation conversation.”

“After we do, can we go at it again?” Harry’s fingers hovered near Draco’s already half-hard prick.

“Yes,” Draco said through gritted teeth. “How much time do we need to settle this? Five minutes?” Sweat was already breaking at his brow. He fought the urge to rut against the seemingly innocent thigh Harry had slid between his legs.

Harry snorted. “Not every decision needs to go through circuitous pondering, you know.”

“That’s a Slytherin for you, Potter.”

“Fine," Harry started, with a wave of his wand. "I’ll tell you what  _ you’re _ doing for Christmas Eve: you’re coming to Andromeda’s with me. We’re going to have dinner with her, your mum, and Teddy. It’s going to be grand. And on Christmas Day... you’re coming with me to the Burrow, if your mum is fine with it.” He made a show of casting a  _ Tempus.  _ “There. Twenty-two seconds. Happy?”

“You want me to be with you on Christmas Day?” Draco breathed. For a moment, the shock of Harry’s proposal made him forget his straining erection.

“Draco,” Harry scooted closer and took his face in his hands. “I want to be with you. On Christmas Day, on Christmas Eve, and on every other day of the year.”

“Do you think we can make this work?”

“Between my Gryffindor staunchness and your Slytherin persistence, do you really doubt that we can?”

Draco’s answer got lost against Harry’s lips. Harry heaved his warm, naked body on top of his and pulled at his rumpled clothes. 

If Draco had any misgivings left, Harry’s hot palm against his cock made sure they were quickly forgotten.


	23. A Hogwarts Feast

_**Wednesday, 23 December 1998** _

“Ahem.”

Draco looked up from his scroll of parchment. There he was again, standing near Draco and Harry’s table in the corner of the Eighth Year common room: the same small boy that McGonagall had sent to fetch him and Harry from the Library that first time. It had been the beginning of December, back then. It felt like a lifetime ago.

He caught Harry’s questioning gaze from across the table and smiled. Lucifer, how good he looked. His jet-black hair was in its usual state of disarray, but now Draco knew how soft it actually felt when he carded his fingers through it. He knew how warm and smooth Harry’s skin was under his hands. He knew what Harry’s smile meant.

They’d fucked again that morning, after they’d heard Harry’s roommates leave the room. And one more exhausted time after that, when Draco had come dryly with Harry’s right hand around his cock and his left thumb pressing into his arsehole. He’d felt his muscles clamp down around Harry’s finger. Harry’s eyes had gone wide with surprise. He’d wondered with a thrill what it would feel like, having more of Harry inside him, giving himself over completely, letting Harry take him. And then Harry’d come on his stomach, three brief spurts of come after several consecutive orgasms, and Draco had fallen back against the mattress with Harry in his arms and filed this new fantasy for later discussion.

They had missed their morning classes. By the time they’d gone down to the Great Hall for lunch, the whole school had seemed to know exactly what they’d been up to.

“I’m happy for you, mate, I really am. But I really don’t want to know,” Ron had stopped Harry before he’d even opened his mouth.

“Honestly,” Hermione had said sternly. “I know how Harry can be, but I expected better behaviour from you, Draco.”

“I— _We_ lost track of time!” Draco had protested.

“I’m talking about your skipping classes, not about your having sex!” Hermione had said. Her face had softened at the thought. She’d looked from Draco to Harry with a smile. “Congratulations, by the way!”

“This is worse than the telling-off,” Harry had put his face in his hands and moaned into his bowl of soup.

“I’ve received the books and leaflets we ordered,” Hermione had continued as if Harry hadn’t said a thing. She’d rummaged in her school bag before handing a stack of books to Draco. “Here. You’ve got more material on the Muggle personality and career tests we talked about: Holland Codes, Myers-Briggs, NEO PI-R... If you take these and apply the formulas you’ve showed me, you should be set.”

Harry had looked at Draco from over his bowl.

“I don’t know what’s scarier. That a test might tell me what I should do with my life, or that the answer to this question is within a few wand movements’ reach.”

So they’d ended up with new books to read. They’d agreed to work on it that afternoon after class. Draco had many other, _more pleasurable_ ideas for how to spend his time with Harry. However, the prospect of having to face their Headmistress with nothing to show for the task she had assigned them had quickly quelled those particular wishes. By the looks of it, it had been the right call: Minerva McGonagall had just sent her favourite messenger.

“Aww, who let you in, Mister?” Pansy, who was passing by, ruffled the little First Year’s hair. He flinched away. Pansy could not be anything but terrifying even if she tried.

“The Headmistress wants me to tell Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy that they are expected in her office,” the small boy announced, quivering with the importance of his mission. “You can join her there now.”

“Thank you, we will,” Harry told him, fighting down a grin.

“Do you think we were this tiny in First Year?” Draco asked him while collecting his books.

“Probably. All I remember is your sneering, pointy face, Malfoy,” Harry said amiably, playfully.

Draco remembered. _You make fun of me, and I make fun of you. We could have this kind of relationship._

“As though you didn’t look like an obnoxious little rugrat back then, Potter,” he replied. “Thank Merlin you grew into your looks.”

“Piss off, Malfoy, you wanted me all along,” Harry said with a crooked smile. Draco rolled his eyes and took his hand.

“Oi, where you goin’?” Seamus Finnigan called from near the fireplace. A little group of Eighth Years had gathered on the sofa and chairs and were watching Ron Weasley beat Dean Thomas at Wizarding Chess. The entire common room glittered with silver and gold ornaments, enchanted snow and twinkling fairy lights. Hannah Abbott’s CD player spilled Muggle Christmas songs. Odd as they sounded, they contributed nicely to the haphazard, festive holiday cheer of the room.

“McGonagall wants to see us,” Harry said over his shoulder.

“Don’t forget about the Christmas Feast,” Luna Lovegood reminded them. “It’s always my favourite moment of the year. It feels like being surrounded by a big family.”

“Aww, love,” Ginny Weasley wrapped her arm around her girlfriend’s shoulders. Jeff the Niffler, his emerald collar glimmering in the firelight, jumped in Luna’s lap and snuggled closer to her. “You _have_ a family. And we’re all going to be together on Christmas.” She fingered her girlfriend’s long, radish-shaped earrings fondly. “You gotta stop saying things like that. You’re bumming everyone out.”

“Yeah, you can tell it’s nearly Christmas,” Ron gave the Seventh Year girls an annoyed look before moving one of his knights. “All of you waltzing in our common room as you please.”

“Oh, piss off, big brother,” Ginny pushed him lightly. “It _is_ Christmas!”

“And we wouldn’t have ickle First Years visiting us here if our common room wasn’t open for the occasion,” Pansy added, directing a toothy grin towards the First Year boy who lingered near the fire. With an alarmed yelp, the little boy scurried away.

“All the Christmas decor is a little too much for my taste,” Blaise eyed the large fir tree with a slight moue of distaste, “but if it makes all of you happy...”

“Oh please, Blaise, tell us again about how you’re spending Christmas on the _Côte d’Azur_ with your mum and how everything is so much classier there,” Theo scoffed.

“How about we let you carry on with that _captivating_ conversation?” Draco rolled his eyes. “McGonagall strikes me as the type who values punctuality.”

“See you later,” Greg waved at them. He was smiling, sitting close to their classmates. He still had that sad look in his eyes, and Draco doubted it would ever go away.

Draco and Harry left the room and made their way to the Seventh Floor.

 _“Scottish Fold and British Shorthair,”_ Harry said when they reached the entrance to the Headmistress’ office. The stern gargoyle nodded and leapt to the side.

Inside, things had become ever more cheery than the last time Draco and Harry had been there. There was an entire herd of reindeer ornaments frolicking around the imposing desk and along the bookshelves lining the walls. Floating golden baubles sprinkled enchanted glitter everywhere, and a Christmas tree had been squeezed in the corner where Dumbledore’s magical instruments used to be displayed. In this cheery decor, the hard-nosed Headmistress made for quite a startling sight.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” she gestured at the two seats across from her. Two tea cups popped on the desk in front of them, wafting the smoky scent of Lapsang Souchong towards them. “I daresay you know why I have called you in tonight?”

“Yes, Headmistress,” Draco and Harry said in unison. Draco caught Harry’s eye before he turned his head firmly ahead. The corner of Harry’s mouth twitched with a smile.

“As discussed at the beginning of the month, I do not expect you to have a definite career plan laid out. However, I would like to see evidence that you to have given your professional future some thought. It is fine to not know precisely what you want to do when you graduate Hogwarts; though this shouldn’t discourage students from starting to research their options.”

“Yes, Headmistress,” Draco said. Harry didn’t speak this time. “We’ve actually done some research. Here,” he pulled a book from his school bag, “this one is called _The Oldde And Very Arcane Guydde to Human Resoyrces_ but there are a few others that we read and paired with Muggle personality tests and career suitability research.”

McGonagall surveyed them from above her square spectacles.

“So you haven’t looked at potential careers yet? Only ways to decide which general areas might fit you better?”

Draco’s heart sank. “Headmistress, this is not a thoughtless idea. I assumed it was just as valid to start the process by researching _ourselves,_ for lack of a better word, as it would be to start with actual careers.”

McGonagall lifted her hand. “Mister Malfoy, thank you for explaining your reasoning to me. I meant no criticism when I spoke about your research process. In fact, I appreciate your impressive maturity, not only in the way you took this task on, but in the way you calmly defended your ideas. Where some of your classmates might have spontaneously chosen to pick a career book, you chose to start with the main subject matter: yourselves.” She steepled her fingers over the desk and smiled. “I have no doubt that whatever you decide to do after Hogwarts will be meticulously considered.”

Draco felt Harry squirm on his seat.

_Uh-oh._

“Headmistress,” Harry piped up. “I want to reiterate how lucky I am to have been paired with Draco. He’s one of the most clever and thorough people I’ve met, and he also managed to make this career research interesting and fun. I mean, just look at how creative he was! Muggle tests paired with Wizarding spells! It’s all brilliant, really, but...” He scratched the back of his head, hesitated. “What about extenuating circumstances? What about not _wanting_ to decide?”

Draco opened his mouth—this might not be the best place to discuss this, damn Gryffindors to the ends of Heaven—but Harry placed a reassuring hand on his leg. Draco looked down at Harry’s hand, calmly but possessively clamped around his knee, and prayed his blush wasn’t too visible.

McGonagall studied them over her cup of tea. If she was surprised by Harry’s gesture towards Draco, she didn’t let it show.

“Headmistress,” Harry continued, “I... This is a decision that belongs to me. Lately... I realised how little I had decided for myself up until now. I don’t want to rush into things anymore. I want to—to _take my time.”_ He glanced at Draco, and Draco felt his cheeks burn. “Maybe take a year, two years off after Hogwarts. See more of the world. Travel. Think things through.”

Draco stared at Harry with his mouth open. For all their talk about personality tests, he had not seen this coming.

“This, Mister Potter,” McGonagall said, “is why I chose to pair you with Mister Malfoy,” She gave them a thin-lipped smile. “If anyone can understand what extenuating circumstances are when it comes to choosing your future... it’s certainly the two of you. Mister Potter, you can be the one who leads both of you on the unknown road. Mister Malfoy, you can be the one who brings both of you back home when you’re ready for it.”

Draco sat motionless, blinking rather stupidly. What had happened just now?

 _The future. The unknown road. Home._ Words he’d never felt the need to explore in his past lives. Words that were now seemingly part of his new human life.

He glanced at Harry again, as one would glance at his life buoy when lost at sea. Harry caught his gaze and squeezed his knee reassuringly.

“Is it alright, Headmistress?” Harry asked. “That we don’t have answers yet?”

“Yes, Mister Potter. As I said, all I want is for you to take a moment to think of your future—the one that extends beyond the gates of our beloved castle, at least. Believe it or not, I consider what you’ve come up with so far as tremendous progress. I think, for the first time in your lives... you finally have the opportunity to make a choice purely for yourselves. You’re at the threshold of an exciting and decisive time of your lives, gentlemen. You might as well enjoy it.” She rose to her feet. “Now, if you will follow me, there is a very immediate and delicious future awaiting downstairs. I heard word from the Elves that the stuffed turkey and the chocolate and pear pudding are particularly spectacular this year. It wouldn’t do to let our Christmas feast go cold, would it?”

Draco and Harry followed her out of the office.

As McGonagall walked down the stairs briskly a few paces ahead of them, Draco pulled Harry by the sleeve and brought him to a halt.

“What was that about?” He hissed.

“What?” Harry asked. He looked entirely too innocent.

Draco let go of his sleeve.

“You never told me.”

“I just thought about it when she was talking. _A future meticulously thought of._ I don’t think I want to meticulously think of _anything.”_

“Shocking,” Draco muttered.

Harry huffed a laugh. “Yeah, walked right into that one.” He looked at Draco, his green eyes gleaming in the torchlight of the corridor. “Having everything planned and laid out in front of me scares me. I do think of the future of course. Just not into that much detail.”

McGonagall had turned around a corner, out of sight. Draco hesitated. He wanted to ask—but it was a loaded question. And all loaded questions had the propensity to blow up in his face if they fell in the wrong hands.

But he trusted Harry.

“What do you think about? When you think of the future?”

“Just... being young. Being free. Seeing my friends be happy and safe. Seeing the world a bit. Seeing everything I never had a chance to see.”

“Oh.”

Harry moved into his space. “You can be a part of it. You can be a part of my future, every step of the way. As long as you feel like you have enough room within it to build your own.”

Draco put his hands on Harry’s waist as Harry wrapped his arms around his shoulders, bringing them closer.

“I think it’s rather obvious that I’d like that very much,” he admitted against Harry’s lips.


	24. A Walk Across A London bridge

**_Thursday, 24 December 1998_ **

The closest Apparition point was below Westminster Bridge. When their feet hit the cobblestones of the quay, the cold air that filled Draco’s lungs made him cough in surprise.

“I always forget about the bloody smog,” he said, wiping his eyes with the back of his gloved hand. “We could have Flooed.”

“We could have, yet when I suggested it, you whinged about rumpling your dress robes. Besides, we’re in London! And I _wanted_ to walk. Come on.”

“The air stinks,” Draco muttered but let Harry pull him by the hand towards the stairs.

Harry had been right, as was often the case when it came to appreciating the little pieces of beauty life had to offer. Although the view that greeted them at the top of the stairs was anything but _little._ It had started snowing. The sight of the magnificent bridge crossing the wide, sluggish waters of the Thames, Big Ben and the Westminster Palace illuminated in the distance behind curtains of fresh snowflakes, took Draco’s breath away. His feet came to a halt of their own accord.

“Never been here before?” Harry asked, stopping beside him.

“Pure-blood wizards rarely leave the Wizarding Quarter,” Draco said quietly. He _could_ have come here before, if he was perfectly honest with himself. But never in his hundred lives had he felt the need to cross the border. _No one_ in his hundred lives had made him want to cross the border. He turned to face Harry. “I’m glad I met you, Potter.”

Harry laughed. “Getting sentimental on Christmas, Malfoy?”

Draco smile ruefully. “Clearly, I’m forgetting myself.”

“We can walk around a bit more if you’d like.”

“I would. But it’s getting late, and it would be most unseemly if we showed up late at my aunt’s.”

“Nah, your aunt will be fine. Your _mother,_ on the other hand...”

Draco playfully pushed Harry and strode forward.

“You know I’m right!” Harry laughed behind him, and he heard his footsteps as he followed Draco across the bridge.

***

Andromeda’s flat was small but warm and cosy. A few years back, Draco would have sneered in disdain. But the place reminded him of the Eighth Year common room—all thick rugs and mismatched furniture and crackling fire in the hearth—and he couldn’t bring himself to feel the slightest hint of condescendence.

Their little group had gathered in the living room after dinner with cups of spiced mulled wine. His mother and Andromeda had taken the loveseat in front of the fire. Teddy had climbed on Draco’s lap and had promptly fallen asleep, much to Draco’s helpless astonishment.

Harry dropped himself on the rug at the foot of Draco’s armchair and set his cup of mulled wine next to him.

“He seems to like you,” he said, his eyes crinkled in a mischievous smile.

“I’m very likable,” Draco said, rather stiffly. He barely dared to breathe. There was a _baby_ in his lap. Teddy stirred in his sleep, his hair slowly turning from turquoise to cobalt blue. He found his thumb and started sucking it.

“I still can’t quite believe it sometimes, but you are,” Harry smiled. “You can move, you know. He’s not going to wake up. Babies do tend to sleep like babies.”

“Easy for you to say. I’m only the estranged cousin. You’re the providential godfather. You could do no wrong, even if you woke him up.”

Harry laughed. “Breathe, Draco.”

Draco squirmed tensely to the right. Teddy heaved a sigh and slept on.

“How do you feel this is going so far?” He asked, nodding towards his mother and Andromeda deep in conversation.

“It’s not the first time they’ve seen each other since the summer,” Harry shrugged.

“It’s the first Christmas, though.”

Harry gave him a meaningful look. He knew exactly what Draco meant.

“Considering... it’s going fairly well.”

Indeed, Narcissa and Andromeda were sitting with their heads leaned close together. Draco couldn’t hear the content of their conversation, but he could tell by the rapid-fire words and the conspiratorial looks that the two sisters were taking great pleasure in catching up.

There had been a heavy emotional moment when they’d all sat around the table. The unfamiliar configuration of Tonkses, Malfoys and Potters emphasized the absence of family members—husbands, daughters, fathers—from all sides. It had hit Draco more bluntly than ever before: for all that he’d loved this life more than all the others, the people around the table were _real._ They were people he’d get to live with and love for the rest of the one life he had left. They were people he wouldn’t abandon to go live another demonic cycle when things got tough.

He was in it for real. All or nothing.

“I bet you ten Galleons they’re talking about us,” Harry said. From where he was sitting on the rug, the nearby fire cast dark shadows over his bright green eyes and wicked smile. He looked like a Christmas present waiting to be unwrapped.

“Bite your tongue. That would be mortifying.”

“Why else do you think they’re keeping their voices down and throwing us those looks?”

Draco felt a blush creep up his neck. “Oh, Merlin.”

“They’re happy for us.”

“I’m happy for me too, it’s just...”

“Feels so grown-up, doesn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“I like it.” Harry turned his head to look at the fire. “I never thought I’d live long enough to have a boyfriend, let alone introduce him to the people that matter to me.”

Draco found Harry’s hand on the arm of his chair and squeezed it.

“Neither did I,” he said quietly.

Harry glanced at him. “Yet here we are.”

“Here we are. Though if someone had told me I’d end up with a bespectacled prat with a disaster of an hairstyle for a boyfriend, I might have reconsidered.”

Harry leaned closer, showing his teeth as he grinned. “Can’t you be serious for longer than half a minute?”

“I make fun of you and you make fun of me, remember?”

“Git.” Harry shook his head. “I can’t wait to go to our room and show you _exactly_ what you get for interrupting my profound introspective moment with a joke at my expense.”

Draco sat up straight.

“Aunt Andromeda? Mind if I hand you Teddy back? I think I’m ready to call it a night.”

“Oh, real smooth, Malfoy,” Harry muttered from the corner of his mouth. His shoulders shook with repressed laughter. His muted glee shone a new meaning on Draco’s words. Draco felt his face heat.

“Yes, my dear,” Andromeda stood with a crooked smile. Draco groaned inwardly.

“It’s been a long term for you and Harry,” his mother chimed in with the same mortifyingly knowing smile. “You need your rest.”

“Oh, of course, Narcissa,” Andromeda concurred. Neither she nor his mother were fools. “For young men in the prime of life like these two... _getting a good night’s sleep_ is important.” Andromeda lifted Teddy off Draco’s lap, cradling him in her arms. “You can go. I’m going to put my grandson to bed now. Goodnight, boys.”

“Goodnight, Draco, sleep well,” his mother said, kissing his cheek as she passed by his armchair. “And you too, Harry.” Astonished, Draco watched Harry stand and Narcissa lift her head to peck him on the cheek. “Happy Christmas, dear,” she told him. “Take good care of my son.”

“I will,” Harry smiled.

“I know.”

With one last pat on Harry’s arm, Narcissa left the room. Harry turned to Draco with a bright, cocky smile. Draco hid his face in his hands and peered at him from between his fingers.

“Oh, you’re enjoying yourself, are you?” He muttered.

“Tremendously,” Harry laughed.

Draco dropped his hands in his lap. “Now that my entire family knows we’re going to defile each other in the next room, we might as well get on with it, don’t you think?”

Harry’s eyes darkened. “Merlin, Draco...“

“That’s what I thought,” Draco smirked. “Come on, Potter, don’t stand there gaping like a Flobberworm. It’s really not very attractive, and I might reconsider. We wouldn’t want that, would we?”

***

The door had barely snapped shut behind them that Harry grabbed Draco by the front of his shirt and pushed him roughly against the door.

“Fuck, I’ve wanted you for hours,” he moaned as he attacked Draco’s mouth with hungry, desperate kisses.

“Mmmpff,” Draco tried to speak. He managed to break the kiss long enough to groan, “Silencing spells, you heathen! My mother and aunt and cousin could hear us!”

“Don’t. Care,” Harry gritted, but he still waved his wand and cast a wordless _Mufflatio_ around the room. Draco relaxed and pulled Harry by the back of his neck into another fiery kiss. As always, the first soft, wet touch of Harry’s tongue to his made him painfully hard within seconds, eyes rolling back as his head hit the door. He tilted his head more, letting Harry explore his mouth, caress his tongue, the kiss turning slower, more tender as it lasted, bodies slotting against each other, hips grinding against hips. Harry’s fingers slid along his cheekbones, into his hair; a hot, filthy version of the first time he’d done this. The memory hit Draco like a spell: Harry wrapped in a garland of fairy lights, a puff of smoke passing from his mouth to Draco’s, from his breath to Draco’s, initiating him...

Draco’s knees wobbled with pleasure and anticipation. He wanted to initiate Harry in his own way; he wanted to watch him lose his mind, come undone in Draco’s hands, in Draco’s mouth—

He put his hands on Harry’s shoulders and pushed him back lightly. Harry blinked at him in the semi-darkness of the room, as if brought back from a dream. His lips were wet and swollen. Draco wanted to scream with how much he wanted him.

“Put your hands on the door,” Draco said. His voice was low but his tone was purposeful. As though in slow motion, Harry nodded and obeyed. His arms bracketing Draco’s face, he waited, shivering. Draco smirked and slowly, so slowly, fingers trailing down Harry's sides, he slid down Harry’s body and fell to his knees.

“Fuck,” Harry exhaled harshly when what Draco was about to do registered in his brain.

Without a word, Draco lifted his hands to Harry’s flies and undid the button and zip, pulling his jeans down around his knees. Harry’s cock was already hard and leaking, a wet patch forming on the dark fabric of his tented boxers. Draco licked his lips and looked up.

“I forgot to buy you a Christmas gift,” he whispered with a smirk.

Harry’s laugh came out strained. “Fuck, Draco, don’t make me laugh.”

“Mmh,” Draco murmured, rubbing his cheek against Harry’s erection. Lucifer, this felt so good; if Draco wasn’t so focused on his goal, he could have come in his pants just from the feel of it, the smell of it, musky and masculine and _Harry._ He touched his lips to the tip, feeling the silky skin and the wetness underneath the cotton, and Harry’s legs trembled.

“Draco—I’m not—going to last,” he said haltingly. Draco thrilled with the strain in Harry’s voice.

“I’m the one who makes you feel this,” he wondered almost to himself.

“Yes. Draco. God, you make me feel so _alive—“_

Draco cut him off with an open-mouthed kiss, lips closing around the darkening cotton, licking the saltiness into his mouth. Harry’s hand fell in his hair and Draco pulled back.

“Hands on the door,” he growled, steadily gazing at Harry from under his lashes.

Harry swallowed and nodded. His breaths were already quicker, his face pinched with the effort of keeping still when Draco was so close.

“I’m going to suck you off,” Draco said quietly. It didn’t really need to be stated. He still loved the sound of the words coming from his mouth, dirty, filthy, grown-up. The opposite of _angelic._ In the darkness, on his knees, he felt like he could tell him anything. “I’m going to suck your thick, hard cock until you come in my mouth, Harry, and I’m going to love it. I’m going to swallow your come and I’m going to love it. Unless you want to come on my face. We can do that, if you prefer.”

“Draco—“ Harry whined. It was the sweetest sound. “Fuck. Anything—anything. Just—“

Draco slipped his fingers under the waistband of Harry’s boxers and pulled them down, careful when he reached around front to let Harry’s cock out. It jutted, hard and dripping, right in front of Draco’s face, and Draco fought a wave of lust so strong he would have almost given anything to drop his own trousers and wank frantically to the sight of Harry’s prick facing him.

Instead, he forced his own desire down and closed his right fist around the base of Harry’s cock. He’d touched Harry already. Yet this was something filthier, sexier, _bolder_ than anything he’d ever done. It felt like a point of no return, and Draco relished it, bringing his face close, letting the soft skin of Harry’s erection stroke the soft skin of his cheek. Harry’s cock spurted another trickle of precome and Draco laughed quietly.

“I’m getting there,” he said. His other hand holding Harry’s trembling thigh, he gave his cock a pump, then licked the leaking slit, getting his first taste. It was salty-sweet and earthy, but far from unpleasant. Harry whined a little at the teasing contact.

“You said you were getting there,” he complained. Draco laughed.

“Impatient.”

“Just looking forward to my gift.”

“Just making it extra pretty for you,” Draco lifted his eyebrow. He licked a teasing stripe up the tip, this time with more intent. Harry’s head fell forward with a moan.

“You’re killing me,” he gritted.

“No,” Draco whispered, “I’m making you feel _alive.”_ And leaning in, he took Harry’s cock in his mouth for good.

Merlin. For all Draco had wanted this—had extensively fantasized about this—he could never have imagined what the first pump of his mouth around Harry’s prick would feel like. Lips stretched around the girth of it, the soft wet slide of his tongue along the veined underside, Harry trembling and breathing hard above him—

Draco moaned around Harry’s cock, his eyes falling shut with the intensity of the moment, Harry’s pleasure emanating from him in waves, lingering against Draco’s fingers like magic, dripping salty against his tongue. Draco started bobbing his head slowly, feeling his way around Harry’s cock, exploring the contours of it with his tongue, testing his own limits. When it hit the back of his throat, he gagged a bit and pulled away. He felt Harry tense above him.

“Fuck, Draco, are you okay?”

“I’m bloody fantastic,” Draco told him. His voice came out rough and gravelly. It brought the image of Jeff the Niffler to mind, and Draco shook his head and suppressed a smile. He looked up at Harry. “Want me to continue?”

“Are you being serious right now?”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he smirked and gave Harry’s cock another tug before closing his lips around it again.

It was easier this time: all Draco had to do was follow his instincts. He listened to the music of Harry’s breath, of his moans getting more needy and whiny as Draco increased his speed, of his own heart beating like the wings of a phoenix in his throat. He sucked Harry harder, licking across his slit on his way up, pushing his cock further and further down his mouth on his way down. He knew he must be drooling but he couldn’t bring himself to care; not when Harry was shaking against him, trying desperately to stay still, his hands clawing at the door, his balls tightening against his body.

“Fuck, Draco, your mouth—I can’t believe I’m in your mouth—”

Draco moaned around his cock and lifted his free hand to cup Harry’s balls. He experimentally rolled them around his palm, slowly, one after the other. He listened intently to the sounds Harry made, waiting for a sign that he should stop. When such a sign never came, he closed his fingers around the sac and felt it tighten against his palm. He remembered what Harry had done the last time they’d had sex at Hogwarts—his slicked forefinger rubbing circles around Draco’s rim, pushing into Draco’s hole. How heavenly it had felt. He decided to take a risk. Not even realising the bobbing rhythm of his mouth over Harry’s cock had slowed, he let his fingers trail up past Harry’s balls, along his lightly haired arse cheeks, slipping lightly into his crease. Harry’s breath stuttered and hitched. The head of Harry’s cock still pressed against the inside of his cheek, Draco concentrated. If he tried hard enough—if he could cast a wordless lubrication spell—

His eyes widened when he felt the oily slide of his finger against Harry’s hole. Harry jerked forward a bit, startled, nearly choking Draco. Draco pulled away and looked up at Harry in the semi-darkness. There was drool dripping from his chin but he couldn’t be arsed to wipe it.

“Alright?” he asked, as much to check that Harry had reacted in surprise and not in repulsion as to make sure he would be allowed to continue.

Harry breathed out through his mouth and nodded. “Yeah. Alright. Sorry, you... I was surprised.” He made a whiny little sound and settled his hands more firmly against the door. “Keep—keep doing it. Please.”

Draco stroked Harry’s prick—still hard, still gleaming with Draco’s saliva—and leaned in to suck it into his mouth again. He wanted to smile at Harry’s garbled moan but his lips were stretched too tight. He closed his eyes and let the sensation wash over him, Harry filling his mouth with tiny jerky movements, his thighs trembling with need, his arsehole fluttering under the soft pads of Draco’s fingers—

He rubbed small circles over Harry’s rim like Harry had done just a few days before. Above him, the sweetest sounds were falling from Harry’s open mouth, Draco's name soft like a prayer, and Draco pushed a knuckle in when he felt the tight ring of muscle relax under his fingers.

“Oh—fuck, Draco, fuck that’s good—” Harry whimpered through gritted teeth, and Draco moved his finger, in and out, in and out, carefully, aware of Harry’s every breath. He had the sudden vision of Harry on the bed; on his back, opening up not for Draco’s forefinger but for his cock, tight and so impossibly hot around him. Draco moving over him, hard and slow, and he wanted that, too, he wanted that and everything else, and he couldn’t wait to ask Harry if he wanted it too.

He tilted his head to take more of Harry’s cock into his mouth. He licked it on his way up, closing his lips around the tip and hollowing his cheeks to suck at Harry’s foreskin. He pressed down once more, and then Harry’s muscles clamped around his finger and he pulsed in Draco’s mouth once, twice, as he came with a ragged cry.

Hot, bitter come filled Draco’s mouth in sputtering spurts as Harry shook and thrust into him, all to the pleasure of his climax. Caught in the moment, Draco didn’t think of pulling away. He swallowed it, tasting Harry all the way down his throat, come and saliva leaking down his chin as he licked Harry clean. He hadn’t realised he was panting. Carefully, he pulled his finger away.

“Draco...” he heard Harry groan above him. “That was—Merlin, that was—”

“Please always be this incoherent after a blowjob,” Draco said, wiping the back of his hand across his chin. “It’s really flattering.” He tried to sound nonchalant. The quiver in his voice betrayed him miserably.

And then Harry was pulling him up by the arm and pinning him against the door. There was a split second where Draco wondered if Harry would want to kiss him after what he’d just done. But Harry crashed his mouth against his, desperately licking his lips until Draco opened up under him and brushed his tongue against Draco’s, tasting the bitterness and the want.

Harry’s fingers slid under Draco’s belt. “Please,” he ground against his lips. “Can I please do the same to you?”

The words were so chaste when Harry’s hand was so obscene, dipping down Draco’s pants and grabbing Draco’s aching cock with already expert fingers. Draco nearly blacked out from the need to be touched like this.

“No time,” he whined, clutching Harry’s shoulders for fear his knees might give away. “No time. Next time. Just—touch me, Harry. Make me come. _Make me come make me come make me come.”_

One arm holding Draco up against the door, Harry unzipped Draco’s trousers and pulled them down with his pants. He closed his other fist around Draco’s cock and stroked him frantically, his jeans still bunched around his legs, his softening, wet cock brushing against the hairs on Draco’s thighs. Barely aware of anything save for Harry’s hot panting breaths on his face and Harry’s hand wanking him in time with them, Draco let his eyelids drop. Harry’s gaze was fixed on him and Draco forced himself to maintain eye contact. It was the most painfully intimate thing he’d ever experienced. He’d have averted his eyes, were he not drunk on Harry, taken over by the feel of him, by the love and the lust radiating from his body like the soft buzz of magic. Harry twisted his wrist and Draco stilled and came in a blaze of euphoric heat, his vision going white as he felt his come splatter the front of Harry's shirt and drip on his fist.

Harry let go of his cock and pushed him up against the door again, pressing impossibly close. He grabbed Draco’s face and kissed him, unconcerned with the spunk lingering on his fingers and his clothes. He kissed his lips, his cheeks, down his neck, whiny little breaths escaping him as he did. He finally rested his forehead against Draco’s shoulder. They stayed like this for a long time, catching their breath.

Draco swallowed audibly. Harry looked up at him, his green eyes gleaming and an impish grin on his lips.

“You know,” he purred, “earlier, when you did that thing... with your finger?”

“Uh-huh?” Draco asked, too stunned and sated to manage anything more constructive.

“Was there something you wanted to... ask me?” Harry said, nipping at his jaw. When Draco’s breath caught with the meaning of Harry’s question, Harry huffed a laugh against his neck. “Because... that's something we could definitely try... if you’re interested, that is.”


	25. A Christmas Pudding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... here it is! The last chapter of this little Christmas story.
> 
>  **Thank you, thank you, thank you,** to everyone who read, kudo'd, recced, commented on this fic. It's been a stressful month of December, and reading your notes every day made everything _so much better._ You're the best! 
> 
> To the readers who waited for this fic to be done before reading: I sincerely hope the story makes sense as a whole, and not just chapter by chapter :) I wrote this in about a month, and it's hard to have any perspective on it for the moment :) It might be imperfect on many levels, but it's still been an incredibly fun ride for me. I hope it shows, and I hope you had a good time reading, too!
> 
> May your holidays be as happy as Harry and Draco's ❤️

**_Friday, 25 December 1998_ **

Mrs Weasley greeted Draco and Harry with pink cheeks and chocolate sauce splattered across her forehead.

“Ah, here you are, you two! In with you, come on, get in,” she hugged them tight and ushered them inside before running back to the kitchen, hollering at a toddler in a red velvet dress, “Victoire, will you climb down off that stool, darling! Mind that you don’t hit your head!”

“She... _hugged_ me,” Draco turned to Harry, stunned.

“Well... yeah. That’s what people do when you come to their houses.”

“But...”

“Draco.” Harry looked around before backing them into the nearest coat closet. Draco’s back hit the wall, cushioned by a layer of coats hanging from the pegs above. Harry kissed him, a closed-mouthed kiss that was more reassuring than lustful. “Your presence here is one hundred percent welcome,” Harry said when he pulled back. “I wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t. You’re my boyfriend, and I love you, and I want to be with you _and_ my family today.”

“I thought they’d hate me,” Draco mumbled, overwhelmed by Harry’s words, by his warm presence, by the heavy scent of the wool coats surrounding them. “I thought they’d hate me until she hugged me.”

“They know what you did for me last spring, Draco. What you did for me and Ron and Hermione. Even if we weren’t together... there’s no way they’d hate you after that. We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”

“Oh,” Draco said, exhaling through his mouth. He kissed Harry’s forehead, his lips pressed to the now-familiar ridges of his scar. “Okay. I’m—I’m glad I’m here, too.”

“You are?” Harry’s eyes were bright and earnest. Draco didn’t deserve him. But then again, perhaps no one else did. Who cared, then? He was the one Harry had chosen.

“Yes,” he said. “I want to be with you today.” He took a breath. “I love you too.”

Harry smiled.

“Come with me. There’s a few people I’d like you to meet.”

***

Christmas day at the Weasley’s house was exactly as Draco expected: utter chaos. The dining room was a sea of red-haired, freckled people and multicoloured homemade Christmas jumpers, the living room was a cacophonous mess of small children playing Exploding Snap, and the kitchen was filled with teetering piles of dishes and gently floating plates overflowing with roast potatoes, mash, peas and carrots.

Dinner was eaten in loud conversation, silverware clinking on plates and kids asking a steady stream of questions starting with _why._ Around the long family table, plates and platters of food passed from hand to hand, followed by gravy boats that floated precariously a few inches above the guests. Draco couldn’t help but notice the vacant seat between George Weasley and Penelope Clearwater, Percy Weasley’s fiancée. Out of the corner of his eye, he could feel Mrs Weasley’s absent gaze constantly drawn to the empty space where her son should have been. He could see Mr Weasley covering her hand with his and squeezing.

He’d caught Harry’s wistful eyes across the table. Everybody knew about Fred Weasley’s death in the Battle of Hogwarts. Draco had heard his parents discuss it during the days leading to the trials. He didn’t really know Fred Weasley, yet the thought of another classmate’s life being lost to the war had left him feeling strangely bereft for weeks. Retrospectively, it must have been a symptom of his numbered demon days. _They want a normal Christmas,_ Harry had told him when he’d asked. _For the little kids, you know? Well... For everyone, really. We all want something_ normal _now. That’s what Fred would have wanted for us, too._ Harry had bitten a trembling lip and Draco had wrapped his arms around him, humming softly into his hair, murmuring nonsensical reassurances that it would all be alright, one day. It would never be completely alright again, but Draco didn’t expect it to be. He was learning fast that this imperfect balance of joy and pain and sadness and love and fear and bittersweet nostalgia was an intrinsic part of being human. He was fine with it. He had chosen it. He had held Harry close until his shaky sobs had eased into calmer breaths.

After the last slice of Christmas pudding was eaten, Harry went out to the back garden with Mr Weasley. The rest of the family moved to the sitting room, the young parents carrying sleepy children on their shoulders.

Unsure if he should follow them, Draco found himself alone at the big dining room table, his fingers wrapped around a warm cup of tea. He felt pleasantly full yet slightly shaken by the flood of emotions the night had brought. He might be human now, but human feelings still had the power to overwhelm him. Sometimes they washed over him like a tide, sometimes seeped through him like groundwater through rock, sometimes buzzed around him like magic. He savoured the milky aroma of his tea and the sting of hot liquid on his tongue. He deserved a few moments alone to recover after the intensive immersion he’d just had in Harry’s family.

The quiet, however, never lasted.

“Hey, Malfoy. Mind if we join you here?” Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Luna stood at the entrance of the dining room, looking at him expectantly. Draco raised an eyebrow.

“It’s your house, Weasley.”

“Charming as ever,” Ron rolled his eyes but plopped himself on the chair next to Draco. “You’re a bloody ray of sunshine. To think Harry chose _you_ instead of my _sister—”_

“Oi!” Ginny threw a dessert spoon at her brother from across the table with the skilful aim of a Chaser. It hit Ron square on the forehead. Draco could finally admit he’d always found her a bit intimidating. “Harry didn’t _choose Draco over me_ and you bloody well know it.”

“Ginny chose _me,”_ Luna said, her calm voice and fuzzy blond hair making her look like she was floating two inches above the ground, “and Harry chose Draco. Look at our auras, Ron: all shimmering pink and red and gold. Like yours and Hermione’s.” She dreamily smiled at Draco from across the table. Jeff the Niffler poked his twitching nose out of her cardigan’s pocket. “I’m so happy for you, Draco.”

“Thanks.” Draco’s throat felt tight. He took a gulp of his tea to give himself something to do.

Ron patted him on the back.

“I’m happy for you too, mate. I don't get it, of course, because you're still... _you,_ but—”

“There's nothing for you to _get,_ Ron,” Hermione scolded softly.

“Let me finish, ‘Mione! I wanted to say, I haven’t seen Harry like this... haven’t seen him like this in ages.”

There was a pondering pause around the table.

“I don’t think we’ve seen him like this, _ever,”_ Hermione said quietly. “He looks like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders.”

“Surely defeating a madman who's tried to kill you since you were born would do that to someone,” Draco muttered, unsettled by the direction the conversation was taking.

“That's not all there is to it, though, is it? Removing a threat to one’s life isn't the same as—as finding a reason to look forward to living.”

“Harry has plenty of reasons to live—”

“—and this one is _just for him,”_ Hermione cut him off gently. “For once, he chose something _—someone—_ by himself. _For_ himself. Do you have any idea how significant it is for Harry?”

“I’m starting to see it,” Draco said. His heart was thudding. Merlin, how did humans ever get used to that bloody thing bolting in their chests at the slightest emotion?

“He’s really into you, mate,” Ron said. He eyed his sister and shrugged sheepishly. “Sorry, Gin.”

“Merlin, Ron, you’ve got to stop acting like me and Harry splitting up is the end of the world,” Ginny chaffed him. “I assure you I’m happier with Luna.”

“She really is,” Luna added with a soft expression on her face, resting her hand on Ginny’s. Ron shook his head with a smile.

With Harry’s friends around the table, Draco decided to seize the opportunity to bring up something that had been nagging him since their last day at Hogwarts.

“Hey... how much do you know about Harry’s plans after Hogwarts?” he asked, voice guarded. Hermione and Ron exchanged a look while Ginny leaned her elbows on the table. Nobody answered and Draco rolled his eyes. “Oh, _come on,_ I’m not asking you to spill Harry’s darkest secrets. He told me about what he wants to do. I just—” He faltered, unsure if he wanted to give that much away. He picked up his napkin and tore one of the corners, placing it neatly on the table as if laying his cards. “I just want to know what you think of them,” he added cautiously.

Hermione let out a breath. “I was surprised as well, at first,” she said. “And then after I gave it some thought... I wasn’t.”

“Yeah,” Ron smiled wistfully, “‘S’not like Harry had many opportunities to see the world before now.”

“Exactly,” Hermione nodded. “I think he spent every summer holiday in Little Whinging. Maybe Hastings, occasionally, when his Muggle relatives felt like seeing the sea. They were the _creatures-of-habit_ kind, if you know what I mean.”

“More like the knob-heads kind,” Ginny muttered. Everyone around the table nodded except Draco. He tore another piece of his napkin. This clearly was another Harry Potter mystery he’d been left out of by years of bad blood. Context clues suggested Christmas might not be the best time to ask about it.

“Honestly, anyone with the slightest common sense would take time off after Hogwarts,” Hermione said, taking a sip of her tea.

“Thank you for confirming you don’t have any,” Ron pulled her close and kissed her cheek. Hermione giggled and pushed him off.

“I’m serious! I know exactly what I want to do, and so do you, Ron. I’m _anxious_ to start, aren’t you? But Harry... he’s never really had a chance to plan for the future, has he? All his life—all he’s ever done was _try to survive.”_

Draco’s eyes never left Hermione as she spoke. When she stopped, he noticed he was holding his breath. The napkin in his lap was half torn to shreds. Their little group lapsed into a loaded, mournful silence.

From the next room, a cry of _Daaaaad! Stop tickling me!_ and a burst of childish laughter startled them out of their thoughts.

“Merlin,” Ginny murmured, rubbing her neck where the collar of her jumper met her freckled skin. When she looked at them, her eyes were shining with moisture. “Do you think all our Christmases will be like this?

“Maybe. For a while at least,” Luna squeezed her hand. “It’s our burden, those of us who lived.”

“Not making it cheerier, Luna,” Ron grumbled.

“I did try to start a livelier conversation,” Draco said. “Perhaps you could tell us about _your_ career plans, if you’re as anxious as you say to get started.”

“I never said I was _anxious,”_ Ron lifted his eyebrows.

“Your girlfriend’s words, Weasley, not mine,” Draco deadpanned.

Clearly, the _sarcastic bastard_ approach worked better than the compassionate one. Ron snickered, and Draco smirked.

“I’m applying for a scholarship at St Salena College at Cambridge,” Hermione explained. “They have the best combined Muggle and Wizarding undergraduate degree in History and Spells Archeology. I want to keep learning about magic,” she said, her cheeks pinking slightly, “and how it affects our magic and Muggle worlds.”

“You watch out, Malfoy,” Ron said, watching his girlfriend with a fond expression. “Next thing you know, she’ll be your next Minister for Magic.”

“That will be the best news to come out in a long time,” Draco said.

Hermione beamed. “Stop it, the two of you. I can barely take a compliment from Ron, now if Draco Malfoy of all people joins in...”

Draco laughed. “Fine. No more compliments for you, Granger: insults only.”

“Just... try to find the middle road, Draco, and we’ll be fine,” Hermione smiled.

“I’m going to assist George at the shop,” Ron said. “He needs the help. The business is slowly picking up again... and Mum says the days are long sometimes and it can get lonely in there. A little company can’t hurt.”

Sensing the flood of sadness rolling from everyone around him in waves, Draco gathered his courage and said: “I want to write.”

Four pairs of eyes snapped to him.

“Write?” Ron asked.

“I did some thinking of my own,” Draco said. He picked a piece of napkin between thumb and forefinger and pulled. The paper tore with a satisfying ripping sound. “You know, when I was working on the personality and career tests with Harry. The same results kept coming up, test after test: the same answers, so obvious I barely had time to finish my spells that it already jumped out of the page. This constant appeal of words, of details, of creative thinking. I’m not sure what I’m going to write about. Still, I _know_ the stories will come when I sit quill in hand in front of a roll of parchment.”

“It’s actually a brilliant idea,” Ron mused. “You could take your job with you wherever you go.”

“Weasley, are you suggesting I follow Harry in his travels?” Draco lifted an eyebrow.

“Mate, I don’t mind what you do,” Ron laughed and lifted his hands, leaning away from him. Draco smirked. “You do whatever you want as long as you keep Harry happy and his heart in one piece.”

“I can definitely see you writing for a living,” Hermione said, “provided you reassess your journalistic integrity. I hardly think we need another Rita Skeeter.”

Draco felt his face heat. “Right.”

Hermione seemed to take pity on him. “It does sound like something you’d be good at.”

“Retrospectively... it sounds so evident. Like I should have known all along.”

“Why didn’t you?” she asked quietly.

Draco closed his eyes briefly. How could he phrase it so it wouldn’t be a lie? “Before the war—before Eighth Year, I always thought there would be someone else to choose what I’d do next. I never... let myself think about the future.” He opened his eyes to find everyone watching him. _“Any_ future.”

“But now... you can,” Luna mused. “We all have a future now. Even you.” She scratched Jeff behind the ears. The Niffler let out a satisfied purr. He opened a sliver of eye and winked at Draco.

“Even _you,_ Draco,” Jeff smirked. His gravelly rasp was only heard by Draco.

Draco furrowed his brow. Of all the parts of his demonic life he had become accustomed to, Jeff the Niffler sure wasn’t the one he’d thought would follow him into his human adventure.

“Yes,” he murmured, his gaze wandering out the window to the snow-white back garden. “Even me.”

“Hey, Malfoy?” Ron poked him in the side. He nodded towards the back door. “Harry's waited for your ferret face long enough.” Draco wasn’t sure whether he meant tonight, or much longer than that. With a wistful smile, Ron patted him on the shoulder. “Go get him, mate.”

***

The back garden of the Burrow was just like the adjoining house: sundry and disordered, with pink rhododendron bushes poking out of a snow drift in one corner, ceramic garden gnomes dressed in homemade Christmas jumpers in another, beds of purple and yellow pansies trapped under a Climate charm along the fence. And just like the house, the garden seemed decked for Christmas, the freshly fallen snow glittering in the moonlight, the warm lights from the inside of the house bathing the scene with a tender, comfortable homeliness despite the cold.

In the middle of the garden, his silhouette cutting a familiar shape against the immaculate backdrop, Harry stood with his back to Draco, his face turned up towards the stars.

Draco took a step, then another.

The wooden stairs of the back porch creaked under his feet. At the sound, Harry turned.

When he saw Draco, his expression changed from melancholy to bright.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” Draco answered with a small smile. He felt strangely shy, uncertain about what would come next, his new heart beating madly in his chest.

Harry beamed. “Merry Christmas, Draco.”

“Merry Christmas, Harry.”

Harry was waiting for him, radiant and so bloody irresistible under the moonlit snowflakes.

His friend. His ex nemesis.

His past. His present.

His one true love.

Draco’s heart skipped a beat, just because it could now. All thanks to Harry.

Harry held out his hand. And Draco smiled, and took a step towards his future.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are like presents under my Christmas tree 🎄❤️
> 
> You can follow me (and this story!) on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/lettersbyelise)!


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